Delving into Fire
by Dinathiel
Summary: A final year at Hogwarts, will mutual hate rein as fate changing occurences bring Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger together? Both students must delve into the mysteries of the Cold fire, an ancient magic that can either be their aid or their destruction.
1. Default Chapter

Don't ask why im doing this. This is yet another result of my boredom, not to mention I like doing HP muhahaha I still don't feel like updating my lotr fic broken so readers of that story will have to be patient with me hehe. Anyway, care to check out any of my other Harry potter fics? I have a one chapter cute fic called Do I dare?  
  
Anyway, hope u enjoy this. Keep in mind, this fic is only going to be 2 or 3 chapters and that is about it.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ summary: Draco Malfoy takes his time to observe Hermoine Granger. His thoughts waver and bring him to a very thoughtful examination of the Gryffindor prefect. Then in a moment of weakness, will Draco let Hermione help him? ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Tainted Dragon...  
  
His cold, steely gaze lingered over the glittering plate which was heaped with all that was comestible. His long, slender fingers played idly with the silver fork, his other hand supporting his chin. Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table in the Great hall attempting to eat his dinner. But the food went untouched as his ice-like eyes dilated and unfocused. He wasn't all that hungry, the boy noticed as he looked down at his plate. He had a quiditch game the day after, and was not looking forward to it. Quiditch lost most of it's splendor over the years in Hogwarts when his arch rival kept leaving the field the hero. Saint Potter, he spat in his mind, his eyes darkening to a dangerous shade.  
  
"Always has to be famous Harry Potter..." He muttered under his breath, slamming his fork down onto the table with a loud slam. His cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, looked up from their plates, an array of crumbs fitting like mustaches across their bulky faces. Draco snorted in disgust and looked away. What pigs, he thought to himself dazedly. The slytherins gaze shifted away from his bodyguards to meet the eyes of a pug-like girl who sat on his other side. She was staring at him quite fondly, much to his horror. Pansy Parkinson continued chatting away to the other students who sat across from her, but her eyes kept going back to him. Looking away with an expression that was akin to being petrified, Draco shifted slowly across the bench. He was in no mood for silly little woman like her with their rather grotesque fancying for him. No mood what's so ever. Pushing the cooling plate away from his sight, his fingers came up to his frame his pointed face. Maybe I should just skip the game tomorrow, he thought to himself.  
  
"Then I won't have to deal with that stupid git, Potter." Draco reminded leisurely. Picking up his goblet, he raised it to the light, watching the way the rays bounced off the walls like magic. He was already in his seventh year. What was he to do with himself once Hogwarts was behind him? Was he to follow in his fathers footsteps? Yes, that would surely please him, he whispered in his mind darkly. Bring down the goblet, he gently tilted it to once side and watched as the crimson liquid poured into his mash potatoes. It was the color of blood. It looked like the blood he would have to spill if following in the ominous path of his bloodline. There was already a shadowy cloak that would give him the form of a death eater, waiting sinisterly in his closet back at Malfoy manor. He could almost remember the way the fabric felt beneath his fingertips when first receiving it, when he traveled back home for the summer after fifth year. He would have those filthy mudblood's and muggles at his mercy whence he join in the righteous circle of Lord Voldemort.  
  
"I'll have that, Potter, on his knees begging me to kill him..." He thought to himself gleefully. Of course, the killing part will be for the dark lord himself. No one, not even his father whom was one of Voldemorts most loyal servants, could carry out the death of the great Harry Potter. That was for the one who had been defeated by a mere baby, having only given the child the scar that made him most famous. Even now, Draco secretly laughed. How was it indeed that his future master was defeated by a baby? It was so preposterous that it was amusing. His gaze lifted from the table which he had been mutely staring at. He could spot the mop of untidy, jet black hair from where he sat. The one who held his eternal hate sat at the Gryffindor table, his startlingly green eyes on the red head who sat across from him.  
  
"Just like, Potter, to make friends with mudblood's and paupers." Draco sneered to his two cronies. Crabbe and Goyle grunted with laughter, still stuffing themselves with handfuls of meat and forkfuls of potatoes. He always wondered why the celebrity made such a fool of himself and accepted friends like that. He could remember that day on the train in his first day when Potter refused his hand of friendship. No one turned down Draco Malfoy. No one turns away from Draco Malfoy. But that day when it happened, it was a slap in the face. No one dared defy him. But alas, almost seven years later and he was still battling the ones who stood defiant against him. But in the end, I will win. I always win, he said to himself. Who would choose that poor excuse of a wizard, Weasley? Scowling, he moved his eyes from the annoying red head to the female who sat next to him. Draco's cold eyes darkened unimaginably, wreaths of fire surrounding each iris of his orbs.  
  
Her... The mudblood...  
  
"Filthy, dirty blooded Granger..." He whispered ominously aloud. The slytherin boy watched as she seemed to be scolding Weasley. She kept putting her hands to her hips in a very bossy way, and her wild mass of curls seemed to swallow the air around her head. A deep glare crumpled onto his tight lips, making the young boy look uncannily like his father. The fingers framing his face whilst he stared upon her deepened and his nails gently indented into his soft skin. If he hated someone more then Harry Potter, then it would have to be her. It was people like her that soiled a good wizarding school. It was people like her that defied Salazar Slytherin. But, it was also people like her he would enjoy wasting once he joined along with his fathers circle.  
  
Draco silently wondered what the troublesome trio would do after graduating Hogwarts. His own life was already mapped out for him. But what about people like the great Potter? Would he grow to become the next Albus Dumbledore? Would he grow to become the defeater of Lord Voldemort once more? Draco knew he would have received a nasty punishment for thinking things like that. He could not help but feel slightly challenged. His fire wreathed eyes fell on Hermoine again. She was arguing with Ron, telling him to be quiet about quiditch and focus on studying.  
  
"Hear, hear." He muttered under his breath as his thoughts went to the game that was the day after. Slytherin was playing Gryffindor and he was not sure if he could bear leaving the field as the loser again. He could scarcely remember when the last time he had actually been the one to catch the snitch and bring sweet victory to his teammates. Draco found it quite unnerving that he almost forgot what the feel of the cool metal of the snitch felt like on his fingertips. Draco's nostalgia passed as a snort came from somewhere beside him.  
  
Turing to his side, he looked to see Pansy Parkinson also staring in the direction of the Mudblood. Following her eyes, he gave Hermione a once over. She was sitting quite straight on the bench of the table. Her black robes were cleanly pressed and fit her form like all the other girls of her house. Her tidiness was slightly edgy, her neatness reminding him of him self. It anything was supposed to be disgusting and untidy, it was the red head weasel who sat closely next to her. How anyone could look like that and leave his chambers, he wondered to himself in bewilderment. With an approving smirk, he looked to a clean spoon on the table that mirrored his reflection. His slick back, platinum blond hair was nestled perfectly in place and behind his ears. His own school robes were freshly ironed and was scented in the best cologne money could buy. Pansy seemed to notice him again because she turned and smiled dreamily at him.  
  
"Honestly, Draco. Can you believe that Weasley actually goes about looking like that?" She asked, perking herself closer to her fellow student. Smirking devilishly, he looked to his reflection again and flashed a smile. Glimmering, perfect teeth stared back at him. Then looking to Pansy, who sighed as she took him in, he finally replied.  
  
"He's an embarrassment to be called a wizard. A disgrace, that one is." He said, giving a pointed glare in Ron's direction. Smiling gleefully, she then said to him.  
  
"And bookworm Granger is no better... A filthy prat, she is." Pansy hissed, her pug like nose wrinkling and making her look more like a dog. Draco's sneer deepened as he glanced back at the Gryffindor table. The trio was chatting quietly to each other like the best mates they were. At that thought, he scowled. He himself had never really had friends. He really couldn't call Crabbe and Goyle his friends at all. They were more like servants to him. They were his shields in the danger. But no, how could he at all be jealous? There was nothing to lose or gain from having friendship. Nothing at all. He didn't need anyone anyway. He was alone, and he would always be alone. But the icy cold realization did nothing to taint the deeply thinking slytherin. His father has taught him that friendship and love was folly. It only bought a sinister weakness that was inescapable. Draco never liked to be weak. It made him feel uncertain and vulnerable.  
  
But if he was to become powerful and become the next Lucius Malfoy, then he could not be weak. He could not be the lost, afraid little boy that still laid buried deep within him. That lost little soul was caressed by the baneful winds of portentous and ill-fated emotions. He was indeed lost, somewhere in his being. But Draco found that he rather not find it again. That would not do. He was brought up not to. The Slytherin prefect did all he could not to push her away. Pansy was still speaking flippantly, her eyes running unabashedly over him. What am I? Some sort of trophy? He wondered to himself irritably with sordid taste. Attempting to ignore the bothersome and rather contentious female, he let his gaze waver idly around the great hall. Christmas was almost there but it bought no elation to him. What was there really to look forward to on Christmas? Presents? It was certainly not spending time with his family and merrily celebrate the holiday together. The image of him and his family actually together like a real family made him give a comical snort. The image was too funny. It was funny because it was so abnormal, so absurd.  
  
Some called it abnormal to have such a hard, complex relationship with his mother and father. But to Draco, it was regular. It was indeed normal. He would not know what it was like to have a mother and father actually care about him. Why did they have him in the first place? No, it was not because Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wanted to start a family and have a child to love and care about. It was because he was to continue to manifest evil and horror to those too weak to understand power once his father passed on. He was there to carry on with the line. To carry on with Voldemorts noble work. He had learned to accept this. He had no choice, really.  
  
Draco looked at the seasonal decoration of the massive hall, his dark eyes glimmering in the dim lights.  
  
"Honestly, Ron! Don't speak with your mouthful! It's positively disgusting!" He heard a voice shriek. Falling back into reality, he once more looked to the Gryffindor table. There she was again. The mudblood... She was yelling at the weasel like she owned him. A dark menacing smirk suddenly filled the contours of his face. Maybe she did own him, he said to himself quietly with a snort of un malfoy-like laughter. He watched as Ron said something in return, a frown on his face. Don't they ever stop arguing? It is quite annoying, really, he thought silently. Draco then wondered why he was paying so much attention to the trio that day. He turned his head to look away; however, it was a pair of chocolate brown eyes that stopped him. Hermione had glanced in the direction of the Slytherin table and caught his stare.  
  
Draco glared at her as there eyes met, his eyes piercing hers. Her Gryffindor bravery reared its head as she glared back. The two sat at there house tables, glaring at each other while silent insults traveled back and forth in a communion with there eyes. Draco didn't know how long they gazed witheringly at each other but, it must have been long because Ron had turned in his seat from talking with Harry to see what she was staring at. Not only did he have Hermione glaring at him, now he had Ron.  
  
"Oi, Malfoy! What are you staring at!?" Ron bellowed. Draco smirked gleefully to himself. He needed a good insult to make up for his bitter mood that evening. He stood up a few inches from the bench where he sat and spoke back to the redhead.  
  
"I am staring at a filthy mudblood, a pauper, and a scar head!" Draco answered, the sneer growing so wide that his face began to ache. Harry did not look lessened by his comment, but Ron had jumped over his side of the table and started in his direction. Crabbe and Goyle, who after a minute too long of realizing what was happening, had stood up next to Malfoy while balling their bulky hands into fists. The fiery redhead towered over all three of them and even Draco wondered silently, when the Weasely had grown so much.  
  
"You swarmy git! Come on over here and say it to my face!" Ron yelled, making even more heads in the great hall to turn and watch. By now, Harry was on his friend's side, one of his hands resting upon his wand. Hermione had stood from her seat and was slowly approaching, her gaze lingering on the head table where the professors sat. In a swift, graceful movement, Draco jumped over his side of the table so that he was right in front of the trio. In the dark light of the castle, it glimmered on his wealthy black robes, making him look almost like an image of his father. He himself had also grown much over the years. The redhead was only a few inches or so taller.  
  
"Will the both of you just stop it! The professors are going to take points away from our house, Ron." Hermione exclaimed, her hands wringing nervously at the folds of her black robes. The Slytherin turned his attention from the two Gryffindor boys to her. Was that honestly all she cared about? Schoolwork and rules? For someone who had been caught sneaking out to Hagrid's hut in her first year, she sure scolded a lot about breaking rules.  
  
"It's just like you, Granger. You, and your goody-goody prefect ways." He sneered, looking her dead in the eye again. Hermione stalked quite unceremoniously past Harry and Ron who were looking on, and came within a foot of Malfoy. Draco snarled in disgust and took a step away as if looking at the giant squid that lived at the bottom of the Hogwarts Lake.  
  
"Don't come any closer, Granger. Your mudblood germs might make me severely ill."  
  
Ron started but Hermione held up a hand to stay him. She has got guts, he thought to himself. But how really foolish to come and try to face a Malfoy! It was people like them with the dirty blood that should be on their hands and knees kissing his pure blooded feet. Hermione stared back at him, flames glowing in her dark brown eyes. A small taint of blush rushed into her cheeks. Ah, he thought to himself with elation. He had hit a nerve.  
  
"Now see here, Malfoy. It's people like you that make me severely ill." She countered, her hair standing on edge as if an electric shock had run through her. Draco gritted his teeth, the skin of his pale cheeks tightening. His fingers lingered upon the edge of his wand, the urge to use some of the dark magic his father taught him flowing through him. Don't loose yourself, he repeated to himself. Taking yet another step closer, He slightly bowed his head down to be eye on eye with her. In the corner of his sight, he could see Ron and Harry tense.  
  
"You dirty little prat. Say it again. I dare you..." He hissed, his nose brushing against hers in a feathery touch. Hermione took a slight step away so that their faces were not so close anymore. I want you to squirm for me, mudblood, he said to her in his head. She placed defiant hands on her hips and her lips formed a vex expression.  
  
"You. Make. Me. Ill..." She whispered, pronouncing each word like a syllable. Draco knew he was seeing red. The dragon inside of him roared violently with utter ferocity, and he did all he could not to lash out on her. Even he could not physically harm a girl in front of the professors. He would leave that to his trusty wand. Who did she think she was anyway? He was arguing with the Weasel and the scar head! Not the stupid, frizzy haired metal case. He wanted to wave her away dismissively, but she had already kindled the embers of anger inside of him. She had gone too far. No one made a fool of a Malfoy!  
  
"You know, Granger, its too bad the basilisk from the chamber of secrets didn't get you when it had the chance. If I was the serpent, you would be the first on my hit list to get what was coming to you." He said, his brows flexing and tensing. In the corner of the eye, he could see Ron lunge forward with his wand at the ready. Harry was right beside him, his eyes glowering at him fiercely. That's right, defend that little prat, he thought to himself. He heard Pansy from behind him give a great snigger of agreement at what he had said. Before the two wizards could get there fingers around his throat, Draco barked an order to his two cronies  
  
"Crabbe, Goyle!"  
  
The two lugs stepped in front of Draco like a shield, Harry and Ron colliding with the bulky forms. Whilst they fought, trying to utter hexes at each other, he turned back to Hermione who looked as though she was about to faint. Well, this should be grand. He had her alone. He had his prey alone. His eyes ran over her ominously, wondering what he should do to her. He indeed wished that the great basilisk of the chamber of secrets had gotten the dirty mudblood. But alas, she was lucky enough to only be petrified. With grotesque disgust, Draco could distinctly remember when Hermione ran into the great hall after receiving the mandrake antidote. He could remember the impossibly enormous grins that spread not only upon Harry and Ron's face, but also hers. Grins. Relieved grins. Grins of love. It was smiles like that, which made him sick. It made him sick because he himself had never been able to grin like that. It was impossible for him to smile out of pure happiness and love.  
  
Hermione sensed his strong, piercing gaze on her and turned to face him. As she turned, her springy, dark curls flew about in her face. Pulling the weapon that was held near his waist like a sword, he brought it up near his chest, as if he was ready to duel.  
  
"Well, Granger, it looks like it's only you and me..." Draco said snidely. Her brown eyes turned to stone and she gave a glare of hatred. Here were two people that held such a dislike for one another. You could almost feel it in the air like a thick, hovering cloud.  
  
"Leave this to me, Draco." Said a voice. Both he and Hermione turned to see Pansy Parkinson standing next to the Slytherin table, one hand on her hip, the other pointing a wand at the girl Gryffindor. Her pug-like nose was wrinkled in distaste as she looked upon whom he was facing. Pansy held herself in a very confidant manner, her nose held high and her chest puffed out. It made her look like a pigeon with a dog face. Give her a dark cloak and she would make a perfect Death eater. He would not be too surprised to find an image of the dark mark on her forearm.  
  
"Yes, it would give me pleasure to take out this vile witch." Pansy paraded on, Draco rolling his eyes and running a hand through his silver hair. Hermione however, was steaming. What was it that made Slytherins hate muggle-borns so much? Who had started that loathing and plotted it down in there children? The house of the colors Green and silver was for people who were determined and cunning. But was there not also the evil that put certain beings in that house? Voldemort himself had been in that house. Hermione thought all of this to herself before speaking.  
  
"With a dog face likes yours, Pansy, I'm surprised Malfoy isn't pulling you along on a leash. It is a muggle saying, that dogs are a man's best friend." Hermione countered. Both Pansy and Draco went completely silently for a moment, both surprised at what she said. It was usually Ron or Harry who stuck up for her. The dragon of Slytherin had to admit that she had wit. Meanwhile, a dark, scarlet blush arose in Pansy's cheeks. Her fists were shaking and the wand had fallen clumsily out of her hand. Draco would have started laughing at her expression had she not been on his side. She stomped an angry foot, a growl coming deep from her throat. She looked as though she was about to attack like an angry Threstal. Ron and Harry, who were fighting to get Crabbe and Goyle away from them had obviously heard their friends comment and had started to snigger under their breaths.  
  
"You will pay for this, you sordid, foul-!" Pansy started, but was stopped by a voice that made that all freeze.  
  
"That is quite enough Miss Parkinson!!"  
  
All heads turned to see Professor McGonagall standing but a few feet away from the group, her eyes ablaze. All who were near her cowered in fear. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. Draco quickly placed his wand in his robe pocket and put on the falsest, most innocent look he could muster. Harry and Ron quickly stepped away from Crabbe and Goyle, all four of them hiding their wands behind their backs like thieves with big bags of stolen money. Pansy huffed and looked away; her face still flushed red from anger.  
  
"For students in their seventh years, I have never seen more childish boys and girls. You are setting a most disappointing example for your younger house mates! Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin!" The Transfiguration teacher scolded, her body rigid. Hermione looked down at her feet, tears welling in her eyes. Draco watched as she fingered the prefect badge on her chest. The professor looked pointedly at each and every one of them; her eyes burning in narrow slits with a look that would make even Voldemort run away into the forbidden forest crying. Ron threw a murderous look in Draco's direction but did not say anything. No one dared to speak in the way of Minerva McGonagall's wrath.  
  
"Bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell." He could hear Ron keep muttering under his breath.  
  
If any of you put another toe out of line, you shall receive detention," She bellowed, her voice slightly shaking. Then with that, she turned away to leave the great hall, knowing her students would not dare disobey her. But before she left she turned to Hermione who looked as though she wanted to burst into tears of shame.  
  
"I would have expected better from you, Miss Granger..." She said softly. Hermione nodded and looked to the ground, and whispered,  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor." She murmured, clenching her trembling hands. McGonagall nodded slowly and then turned to leave. Draco stared after the teacher before looking back to his enemies. Harry was standing quietly next to Ron, who draped a friendly, comforting arm around Hermione's shoulder. A smirk came over his cold lips as he watched tears run down the contours of her face. That's right, cry mudblood, cry... Her sweet tears urged on the tinted glee that filled him. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to cry those dirty tears. Licking his lips as he watched her, hungry from the shame that radiated from her, he put a victorious hand to his waist. He had won. Her tears were his victory. Such a spicy victory that he could almost taste it.  
  
"Who could expect anything better from a stupid mudblood like you?" He piped up. Harry glared and stepped in front of his two friends. Crabbe and Goyle stood like fat statues next to Draco.  
  
"You Dodgy git!" Ron yelled. Hermione was looking at him with an unreadable expression while she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She reminded him of a little girl who had just received a scolding after breaking something. She reminded him of himself as a little boy. He thought back to a certain memory when he was but a toddler. A memory that went everywhere with him. A memory of him taking a walk with his father and mother in a rainstorm. His father was holding a large umbrella over their heads; Draco's little form clinging to his mother's large fur coat. He had then slipped and fell in a large puddle, his expense clothes soaked. Little Draco had begun to cry because he cut his knee and was shivering from the howling wind.  
  
"Daddy, Mummy!" He had wailed, tears falling down his cheeks. Lucius turned around, noticing his son sitting upon the ground. He arched an eyebrow, his lips pursing together tightly. The tall Malfoy gripped his serpent headed staff tightly.  
  
"It seems that you have ruined your new clothes, Draco..." He spoke, his voice tinted with something that was akin to shame or pity. Little Draco clutched his throbbing knee, sniffling whilst rain ran down through his silver hair and down his forehead. Narcissa went to go help him up from the ground but Lucius stayed her with his hand.  
  
"Daddy, I hurted my knee. Can you help me?" He asked. Lucius stood there, holding the umbrella over himself and his wife, and made no sign to move. Draco lifted his small, little arms up, wanting his parents to help him from the ground. He needed love, he needed tenderness. Anything to assure him that these two people cared for him. His pouty lips trembled from both the pain of his knee and the coldness of the late afternoon. He waited there for his father to come and help him up but they stood there, just watching him.  
  
"Daddy?....." Draco sobbed.  
  
"You ruined your new clothes; now get up so we can get home. Stop crying, it is very childish." Lucius scolded, before turning around and continued to walk down the street. Narcissa stood there for a moment, watching her son cry in the puddle on the ground. She wanted to help her beloved child up. She wanted to hold him close, wrap him in her coat, and tell him that she loved him. She wanted too, she had too. The witch made a move to touch Draco, but stopped as a cold voice barked at her.  
  
"Narcissa!" Lucius barked, hitting the ground with the end of his staff impatiently. Narcissa whimpered in fear and gave one last look to her son before turning to catch up with her husband. Draco looked after his parents, fresh tears welling in his blurry eyes. His short arms dropped back down to their sides, his cut knee forgotten. The toddler's sobs filled the street, echoes of the loss of love and care.  
  
Draco's memory ended, his eyes still clouded with anew pain. It was his father who made him what he was today. He had been taught not to care, not to love, not to even feel. Pain was something he should not be feeling. There was only coldness, an eternal darkness. He snapped back to reality as he realized that the trio still stood there watching him. Waiting for him to shoot his wit at them. But nothing came. He wanted out. He wanted to get out of there. He needed to rekindle the ice in his eyes. He needed to rebuild the everlasting stone around his heart. He needed to not feel. That's what made him a Malfoy.  
  
Meanwhile, Hermione had watched as his eyes glazed over in thought. She was waiting. Ron had just insulted him and Malfoy seemed to be taking an awful long time to be thinking of an insult to come up with. She still could not believe what had happened. She had nearly cost herself her prefect badge. Shame filled her heart once more, the only comfort she found was her two best friends who stood next to her propping the boy of Slytherin. But, he just stood there, his pale face frozen. He had seemed utmost happy when she began to cry, but now there was something clouded in his piercing eyes. It was something she could not cope with nor understand. It was something she had never before seen in his eyes. It was pain... The thought of him possibly hurting inside had never really come to her mind. She thought there was only evil in him. Hermione had never thought of the possibility that there might be a thick layer of pain buried deep within his being.  
  
It took only a moment later that he seemed to remember where he was. His thawed eyes were freezing over again with hatred as he looked over them, his gaze lingering upon her. Then without an answer, he turned to leave. Ron saw this with bewilderment, and stepped forward.  
  
"Your barmy, if you think that I'm just going to let you walk out of here, you bloody ferret!" Ron yelled, pointing a finger at him. Laughter filled the great hall, memories of when the supposed Mad Eye Moody had turned him into a great, big ferret. But still, Draco walked without looking back toward the entrance of the great hall. Hermione silently watched him go, wondering why she was not laughing like all the rest of them. It should have been funny. It should have been mirthful to see her sworn enemy receive an insult. But somehow, it just was not. There was something by the way he walked that almost frightened her. Draco usually strutted about, his shoulder and nose held high as if he were some king. But now he walked slowly, his shoulders almost hunched. Sympathy filled her heart as she watched him disappear down the corridors of Hogwarts.  
  
What was she thinking? She was not supposed to be feeling anywhere near sorry for him. But she could not help it. It was something she could not stop. The laughter slowly died down, and the three of them went back to there table to sit down. Harry and Ron were chatting excitingly about what had happened but she remained silent. That was real pain that she saw in his eyes. Such a pain, it was so vivid. It was somewhat akin to the pain she usually saw in Harry's eyes. Biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes went back to the entrance of the great hall where only minutes ago Draco had left through. The silver haired dragon had taunted and made fun of her, even threatened her, but she still felt pity. It was like a prickling in the back of her neck. Very uncertain and uncomfortable, she noticed.  
  
Picking at the cold food on her plate, her thoughts swirling in a tangled vortex in her mind, Hermione let her gaze rest on where Draco usually sat at the Slytherin table. He was certainly a mystery, she knew that. But what was that mystery? She suddenly felt like a detective who was just itching to know about something private. But it would have to wait. She suddenly had the feeling that these thoughts might lead her to places she should not be going. Drawing out a book from her bag, she buried her nose in its massive pages, needing to diminish the thought of the boy with the silver blond hair and the pain she saw in his eyes.  
  
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a/n: Well, I hope u liked that first chapter!!!! R&R!!! 


	2. observant gazings

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the oh so wonderful world of J.K. Rowling. It all is strictly hers.  
  
Thanks for the reviews!!! I'm just going to remind people that this is going to be a short fic. Thanks again for the reviews.  
  
R&R!  
  
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That mudblood... I will get her... I'll drain that soiled blood of hers upon the feet of that scar head and pauper Weasel. Draco Malfoy hastily walked the dim corridors of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, his fists clenching and un-clenching. The laughter of the great hall still rung in his ears causing a flush to meet his unusually pale cheeks. No one laughed at him. No one laughed at Draco Malfoy. But they did. They had won. The trio had won a bitter victory over him that evening in the great hall. How could I have run away, he thought to himself with shame. He could only imagine the expression of sheer disappointment and disgrace that would slither its serpent like way onto his fathers face. He was never to run from the enemy. Especially after letting a Weasley get the last insult. Then her. Granger... This was all her fault. Just because she got scolded by their transfiguration teacher she had started to weep. Weep like the filthy creature she was. It was the pain he saw in her chocolate eyes that replayed the distant memory in his head.  
  
Pain was something so utterly inhumane to him. Where would a wizard be when feeling pain? Nothing, that's what. Pain was something for the weak. The weak ones who couldn't handle power. But that's what being a wizard meant. It was what Voldemort was trying to teach people like him. There was no room in the world for good and evil. Only Power... He wanted that power. Even then, he could almost feel the seed of power growing in the palm of his hand. It was that prospering energy that would let him be the victor over mudbloods and muggles. Draco pulled the collars of his cloak tighter around his neck, his fingers tense as he walked quickly down the stairs into the dungeons. His momentarily thawed eyes were now freezing over again like a molding ice cube. Throwing back his head defiantly, his slick blond hair flashing like the mane of a unicorn in the dim light, the boy of Slytherin came up to the portrait hole of his common room. What was he to say to his classmates whence they return from dinner? Everyone who was everyone had seen him cowardly walk out of the great hall. He couldn't very well say "Well, I happened to remember something from my childhood that had a bloody great effect on me so I decided to leave." Yes, that would certainly be classic and priceless.  
  
"Werewolves..." Draco muttered the password, the portrait swinging open. With a sigh he entered the large common room, not expecting a warm merry fire to be waiting for him along with a homely great couch to lie on. The Slytherin common room was like that. It reminded him distinctly of his own living room back at Malfoy manor. Dark rugs with hard lumpy couches. The light was so dim that it reminded him of the potions dungeon. A negative energy wavered in the room, making all the green dreary and dull. He could not help but wonder what the Gryffindor common room looked like. He could only imagine that it was everything that the Slytherin common room was not. There was probably silently roaring fires, the flames dancing happily under the mantelpiece. No doubt was there probably comfy couches that could make anyone fall asleep in. It was a room filled with laughter and chatter among friends, the brilliantly flashing colors of red and gold dazzling in banners and tapestries. There was none of that here. The people that talked amongst themselves more or less whispered to one another like slithering snakes hissing in parseltongue. Everything was cold, hard, diminishing. But it was knowing that, that made Draco feel reassured.  
  
Climbing the stairs up to his dormitory, he opened the door wondering when his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle would return from the great hall. No doubt were they probably still sitting right at the table stuffing themselves like starved pigs on a farm. Snorting to himself, Draco locked the door behind him and flopped down quite unceremoniously onto his bed. Tomorrow was the Quiditch match. Thoughts of perhaps not showing up on the field tomorrow came wandering back to his mind. Should he really return to the field to once again become the disgraceful seeker that could no longer bring victory to his house team? No, the captain of the team would have him kicked off by morning if he did not show up. Images of Potter being heft up on the shoulders of his teammates clutching the winged snitch rolled darkly into the fresh top of his brain. Fire wreathed its smoldering tendrils around his eyes, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He hated him. He hated the boy who lived so much that he could only imagine with glee what it would be like to see the jet-black haired boy writhing on the ground screaming while he deliver that oh so beautiful cruciatus curse.  
  
"Crucio..." Draco murmured under his breath, mentally pointing his wand at an image of Harry in his mind. Oh, but the exotic, glorious and definitely bewitching euphoria would not end there. No, after he would be through with Potter, the mudblood and the Weasley would be next. Screams. He wanted to hear them scream. Scream for mercy, scream for death. And he would hear it. He would, by his death eater cloak; he would hear them scream to hear the words 'Avada kedavra' to end the pain. His ringing laughter would be the last thing they would hear before he wasted them like the scum they were. Smiling rather menacingly to himself, he tucked his knees under his chin, his fingers groping for his sheets to clutch. But, today had been close. Never had he ever shown weakness to the trio. That gave them an advantage over him. Draco cursed himself yet again, wondering why he couldn't have just said something witty with his charm and walk away. The Malfoy charm was usually successful.  
  
But tomorrow was a new day. A new day to not only prove himself but too make the lives of his enemies a living hell. It was his job too. With a grunt, Draco pulled the curtains of his bed around as he heard his dormitory door open. Squeezing his eyes shut in utter frustration, he waited to see who it was. He did not want to face anyone now. But tomorrow he would be ready. Tomorrow he would strut down the stone steps into the common room, his head held high. He would ice anyone who dare questioned him. Fear me, he would say. They would fear him. That's how it always was. The people of his house looked up to the dragon with awe and fear, all mixed together in a haze in their staring eyes. I reckon if anyone did make fun of me then I would hex them so bad that they would be running out of Hogwarts screaming for their mummy, he thought to himself.  
  
"Oi! I need to use the toilet! Out of my way!" Bellowed Goyle. Rolling his eyes, Draco glared in the dimness of the curtains. At least it was only them two. They really weren't much of mates but they were like his personal dogs. They never hesitated when given an order.  
  
"But so do I! You should have used the lavatory near the great hall, you thick git!" Crabbe huffed. Stupid oafs, Draco thought to himself in annoyance. Did they even think about the possibility that he might have been sleeping? No wait. Thinking was not something Crabbe or Goyle ever did. They'd no doubt hurt themselves trying to do so, he thought to himself with a small sneer. From inside the curtains he could hear grunts and yelps as his two cronies were probably wrestling. Sitting up onto his bed, his back rigid with anger, he pushed open the curtains in a swift movement. Getting up, he marched past the large blobs thrashing about and arched an eyebrow. He was to be dodgy if he was to get what he wanted.  
  
"Crabbe, Goyle!"  
  
Draco barked their names, his brows high. At once they rolled off the floor and stood up. Like two wizards in Auror training they straightened their backs and looked to the wall. He was the one giving orders. He was the one they served. Like a sergeant, Draco took out his wand and hit the both of them over the head with it. A flurry of red sparks scorched the tips of their hair but they did not make a move to notice. Daring them to say even one word, he stood and looked expectantly at them both. The boy of Slytherin looked to their eyes and was positively both pleasured and satisfied to see fear in their glassy eyes. That was what everyone should have had reflecting in their orbs while staring upon him.  
  
"You blundering fools! Did you even think that I might have been sleeping? Well did you?!" He roared, waiting for an answer. But he already knew the answer to that question. Obvious wasn't it? The two bulky students bowed their heads. A smirk curled at the corners of Draco lips as if he had just bested Harry Potter in a duel. Looking pointedly at them for another moment, he then turned and entered the bathroom and slammed the door in their faces. Crabbe and Goyle both looked at each other, their brows meeting with confused confessions.  
  
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Draco raised a stiff hand over his tightly shut eyes, sunlight seeping through his pale fingers and eyelashes. His other hand clutched at his dark green bed comforter, his knuckles turning white. Light from the window kissed his icy cheeks, a stray lock of hair falling in front of his squeezed shut eyes. Morning... Why did it have to be morning, he thought to himself grumpily as he pulled the sheets over his head. The boy of Slytherin hid there locked beneath the sweet assuring security of the massive sheets like a vampire shielding himself from the fiery strokes of sunlight. Muttering a frustrated groan from under the blankets, he opened his eyes and was met with the dim darkness. From behind the shady curtains around his bed he could hear Crabbe and Goyle still sleeping. If that's what you could call it. Their horrific snores rung out through the dormitory, if not the whole common room like the roars of a miffed Dragon. Sitting up with a heavy sigh, Draco chucked one of his pillows at the closer bed. Would he ever get a moment's peace, moment's silence? How was it possible that anyone in both the wizarding and the muggle world could snore like that and not permanently deafen someone in the process, he wondered to himself idly. He could only snort indignantly as Crabbe gave a great snort after being hit with the pillow.  
  
"Crabbe, Goyle! Shut it!" Draco bellowed, slamming both of his fists onto his bed. Not much to his surprise, they did not take heed to his words and continued to snore like bears. A ruddy avalanche wouldn't wake those dolts, he thought to himself.  
  
Today would be difficult, he knew that already. It was in that afternoon at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry that he would fly out onto the familiar Quiditch field, clothed in the colors of green and silver, the pride of Slytherin. His Nimbus two thousand and one would flash in the light and his silver blond hair would glow like an ethereal torch. There would be no fear, no doubts. At least not on the outside. But there was no inside of his shell. Only A distinct hollowness that swarmed with stabs of coldness that were buried deeply within the sheer universes that made him a Malfoy. He would zoom through the air; his head held high while his hand was thrust out before him in a long sought for the golden snitch. But it fingers most likely would not even come close to being fluttered by its wing. No, once again Potter would steal the spotlight he deserved. He would be left into the darkness once more, his shoulders hunched in a defeat that would last like a bitter taste in his mouth. Victory would be snatched away from him; pride would be wrenched away from him, his dignity... Gone... But, one day all of that would be his. He swore upon it.  
  
Swinging the curtains away from his bed, Draco got up from his bed and stretched his stiff, tense limbs. Even his body could feel the failure it would have to face that day. Throwing a disgruntled snort of disgust at his two snoring cronies, he pulled out his school robes and his Quiditch robes from the closet. The green robes seemed to glare at him which made him glare right back. Well today was the day. Just get it over with, he told himself. Stripping himself of his pajamas, he got dressed for his morning classes. He was in no mood to go down to the great hall for breakfast. He was in no mood to see Pansy. He was in no mood to see Potter and the Weasley. And he was certainly not in the mood to see that no good mudblood Granger. None too gently, Draco stuffed his Quiditch robes into his school bag, not caring at the moment they would get wrinkled. What is the point of looking the winner when you are not the winner? By then, Crabbe and Goyle had finally sat up in their beds. Not bothering to wait for them, he slammed the door of their dormitory closed behind him as he swaggered down the stairs, his balled fists moving back and forth.  
  
Entering the Slytherin common room, he could see that most of his house was still running about getting ready for the day.  
  
He walked past them all, his eyes landing on each and every one of them pointedly, as if daring them to make a comment about the evening last night. No one even let their eyes fall on the seventh year as he struts by. Not an eye would act on their curiosity and give in to scrutiny. Feeling satisfied, the portrait door opened and he stepped out into the dark corridors. Well the morning had officially begun as he made his way to the great hall. He would only serve potions before having to meet the house team onto the pitch. Was he ready? More ready then I'll ever be he reminded to himself with only the faintest glimmers of hope. It twinkled like a dying star in the velvet darkness of his being within. Adjusting the leather strap of his school bag onto his other shoulder, he walked down the many hallways, his lips pursed in a vex frown.  
  
Excessive, excited chatter met his ears as he neared the great hall. He snarled in disgust at his school mates. How can they get so excited about a damn quiditch match was beyond anything. What exactly made them have that sickening fleeting moments of game spirit? To him there was to be no such thing called spirit. It was just about winning. Winning and beating the opposite team as bas as you could. There was nothing to be gained in a person like him from defeat. Failure was not another opportunity to try it again in a more intelligent way. Once you lost, you lost. At least, that is what he had been brought up to believe while growing up in Malfoy Manor.  
  
"I didn't get you that new broomstick for nothing, dear boy! You are to win. Lose and you are the failure that I'm starting to believe that you have become..." Those words of his father run out through his mind making Draco growl under his breath and squeeze his fist together repetitively. He was no failure! He was a winner! Entering the great hall with a long, powerful stride, he continued to the Slytherin table. He could swear that the eyes of three Gryffindor's cornered him, but ignored their stares. I won't be coming to you this time... Come to me, make my day he silently told them, challenging, coaxing. The words he uttered to them mentally seemed to seize the air around his thinking space like daggers being ripped through human flesh. Sitting himself down, he grabbed several things from the plates around him and loaded it onto his shining plate. He was not hungry, he knew that. But it was best that he did not show his lack of confidence. Any pity or scorn would surely make him chunder. The seventh year boy moved him eggs around on the plate, creating pictures like a tapestry as he did so.  
  
A few minutes later his two cronies and Pansy entered the great hall and took their seats beside him. Just peachy, he said to himself thoughtfully. The last thing he needed were the two wankers he called body guards and the scarlet-woman that unabashedly never kept her fancying for him a secret. He wanted the soft serenity of solitude. But that was definitely not given to him as Crabbe and Goyle savagely ate their breakfasts. Snorting in disgust he looked to his opposite side to see Pansy studying him closely, her chin supported by one hand while the other was slowly spooning food into her lax lips. He could tell that she wanted to tell him something. She was acting like a dog wining at someone's door to go for a walk.  
  
"On with it, woman. It's obvious that you want to tell me something." Draco snapped quite suddenly. Even the pug-like Pansy jumped in surprise. Her fork fell onto her metal plate with a loud clatter and she looked up into his fierce ice eyes. Such a fire in his eyes, yet it was also harsh ice orbs. Cold fire... An icy fire that licked at his iris's like Christmas wreaths.  
  
"Well? If you are going to continue staring at me like some lost puppy then you should at least speak your mind while you do so." He said, impatience in his tone. Pansy looked up at him again, a blush filling in his cheeks much to his dismay. If there was one thing he hated about the species of woman, it was the fact that they blushed barking mad. But Pansy was the type of girl his father pushed him toward. She was a pureblood for one, and her family also had close ties with his. But yet, he did not want her. He wanted his own woman. Not some sad dosser that followed him around. Awakened from his thoughts by her sudden stuttering, he turned to look at Pansy again. Her fingers were wringing impossibly with her robes, as if her very fingers were caught in them like a net. Her tongue seemed to not be her own because she kept getting tongue-tied. Oh for Merlin's sake, Draco thought to himself.  
  
"Oi! I don't have all day, Pansy! I do have classes and Quiditch. The last thing I need is for you to start getting bloody scared on me." He said all of this in one quick breath, his eyes falling shut as he smugly breathed on his fingernails and brushed them along the front of his robes. Yes, not all people had the Malfoy charm to have woman constantly biting at his catch like a fish on a fishing hook. Reeling them in was what annoyed. It was all too easy. Most of the girls of his house were more then willing to go to bed with him, but he found that a challenge was what he truly desired. He wanted someone who did not submit. He wanted someone who ran from him, daring him to chase her like some stag on a doe. He wanted difficultly. It was complications like that that would make him actually gallop in pursuit. But now Pansy was practically handing herself to him, he felt that he was not so oddly turned off.  
  
"Er... I have to go..." She said at last. Snorting derisively, he could only dismiss her with a wave of his hand. Coward, he thought to himself as he watched her go. Turning back to his plate, he was about to pick up his fork again and play with his food when he felt a strong pair of eyes settle on him. Looking up, his head turned both way and he scanned the great hall for the damn culprit that continued to stare at him like some specimen under a microscope. Snarling, he could only try ignoring it while he picked at his food. The boy of Slytherin could still feel whoever's eyes it was and this bothered him to know that someone was so obviously gazing at him and he did not know who it was. These eyes... They were large and observant; he could only guess what color they were as they gazed unnerving at him. They seemed to be studying him like some sort of school project, stripping him of his courage and left him with uncertainty. Who is ruddy staring at me?, he wondered to himself.  
  
Looking down at his watch, it told him it was time for class. One step closer to having to go onto the Quiditch field, he reminded himself dazedly. Feeling the set of eyes suddenly leave him, Draco could only breathe gratefully. He did not scrutiny. He found it somewhat frightening. His father used to do it to him all the time. He would sit in a chair as a little boy, his father would stand before him, towering like a phantom as his ice-like eyes ripped through him, tearing him piece from piece. One day he would do the same to his child. It was his destiny to continue the teachings of the making of a Malfoy. Pushing his plate in his cronies' direction, they accepted it with elation. They stuffed themselves, slurping loudly and wiping their mouths on the back of their hands.  
  
"You two are positively disgusting. You know that? It continues to amaze me how you got accepted into this school. They must have been truly barmy." Draco retorted, looking down at them. The two bulky idiots only stared at each other with confused expressions, no doubt not getting what he was talking about. Heaving a rather heavy sigh, he turned and walked out of the great hall. But he stopped in his tracks as he felt those eyes again. Looking at the stone ground for a moment, he closed his eyes and concentrated where it was coming from. In a swift motion, he whipped around to see the culprit. A dark smirk passed onto his lips as Hermione quickly averted his eyes. Ah, yes... The Mudblood... He must have been quite interesting for her to have gazed at him like that. But there was something about her steely stare that nerved him. She was studying him, observing as if trying to read who he was. Well she would never be able to read that, no one would.  
  
Throwing her one last glance over his shoulder, he turned and left the great hall, strutting as if his birthday had come early.  
  
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"Smug Bastard..." Hermione whispered to herself as she watched Draco Malfoy swagger out of the great hall, his shoulders moving back and forth proudly, his head erect. But alas, she had indeed been caught in the act. She had awoken early that morning still thinking about the flash of pain she saw in the Slytherin's eyes. While it did not bother her much to know that for once he was being hurt, but the fact that it caused him shame? It was just strange and somewhat unnerving. Something about the way he stared at her before fleeing the great hall the night before left her with nightmares. Nightmares of small little boys with silver blond hair sobbing. In all the while she had never seen Malfoy shed a single tear, nor any form of depression. If he was ever sad, he certainly had one hell of a stone wall blocking anyone from seeing it. But the prefect of Gryffindor had actually cut through the line he had drawn around himself. She had walked into his inner circle if not for only a moment. It was that feelings that made her observe him that morning during breakfast. It both startled and disturbed her how the pain was lost and was replaced with that solid ice. There were no signs of it ever once being thawed.  
  
"Hey' 'Mione, what's wrong?" Came Ron's voice. Realizing she must have been sitting their dazed she looked to her best friends. Ron was eating and looking at her curiously and Harry was quietly eating his eggs, his eyes on her as well. She could only shake her head with a dismissive way, her hang groping around for her fork again. She would just have to forget about it and quit trying to suddenly become a philosopher and study the secrets behind Malfoy. She had more important things to think about anyway. N.E.W.T.S for that matter. Both her friends had a Quiditch match that afternoon. No doubt, it was against Slytherin. Getting up from her seat to wish them good luck, Hermione grinned at her best friends. She had Arithmacy and they had Divination with the game right after. She would not get to see them until after the game was over. She studied the both of her best friends for a moment. Over the years, all three of them had grown quite a lot. She was now nearly a woman. Harry had grown tall, his hair still black as ever as it was always untidy. He had a more a lithe body now after years of Quiditch. Looking to the fiery red head next to Harry, she studied him as well. Ron had to be the tallest boy in the Gryffindor house. He stood well over six feet, yet he still had that Lopsided Weasley grin that she adored. While Harry was wiry and Lithe, Ron had more a stockier, strong form.  
  
"Good luck, Harry." Hermione said, wrapping her arms around her best friend. He squeezed back, smiling softly. Turning to Ron who was looking to the ground, like a child who was denied candy while everyone else got it. Chuckling to herself, she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. With a smile, she could feel the heat rise from his freckled face. She found that she was rather fond of his reaction every time she found the Gryffindor courage to kiss him before a match. Especially when it was against their houses' sworn enemies. Banners of Red and Green would be waved around in the air, like flags being held by soldiers going to war while showing the honor of their country.  
  
"Good luck, Ron." She told him, looking him in the eye. His large blue eyes and her brown ones met in a soft communion, silent words being exchanged. He smiled and nodded before being led away by Harry, still looking back at her and waving slowly. Hermione could not help but blush softly and giggle to herself as she watched them leave the great hall. She really did love the both of them. They would always be there for her, no matter what happened. Not even Voldemort could part the three of them. Picking up her school bag, she swung it over her shoulder and made for Arithmacy. And for one of the few times since she had come to Hogwarts, she was really looking forward to the Quiditch match.  
  
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Namaarie! 


	3. Quiditch and defeated

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the utterly fabulous characters by the great J.K rowling. I don't have any crush on Draco Malfpy, I just think hes a really dark, amazing characters with lots of color and is fun to write about. Hehehe \\ Well, thank you to the people who reviewed my latest chapter, hope u like this!  
  
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"Looking sharp, Malfoy..." Draco Malfoys reflection seemed to have said to him, a smirk on his face. The tall blond studied his reflection in the mirror. Potions had just ended fifteen minutes ago and he had dreadfully headed down to the Quiditch field. In the locker rooms he had shed of his school robes and was now clothed in stunning green, the emblem of Slytherin flashing defiantly on his chest. Well, this was it. The match he had been dreading with utter hate for the past few days. Very soon he would be soaring through the air, the wind ripping through his smooth, platinum hair, his team robes billowing out like a flag. Today, maybe just today victory might actually be his. With a sneer, he could imagine what would happen if he did indeed throw down his scar-headed enemy. Laugh. Yes, laughing victoriously would be the first thing to happen. Laughing right in that Potters defeated face. The spotlight would leave the untidy haired Gryffindor and shine brightly down on him. Just him, all of him. Potter would be left in the bitter darkness like the shoe scum he was. The lion of Gryffindor would lay defeated as the mighty serpent of Slytherin would constrict around its neck in its deadly vice grip.  
  
For once he would be the celebrity. All those of his house would look up at him, even their eyes did not deserve to settle on the greatness that made him. His ability to leave people in awe would be sported, his charm signal beeping infernally in his mind. They would like him. They would love him. Hell, they would even want to be him. But they can't, Draco said to himself. There was only one Malfoy and that was him. No one could repeat nor come close to his glory and splendor. Placing a hand on his slender hips, he arched an eyebrow at his reflection. Yes, he looked good. But then again, he always looked good. Another reason why no one else was Draco Malfoy. So call him proud, but he knew that girls fancied him. He was a regular magnet while strutting down the halls of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He drew their eyes to him like a bee on a flower. Running a casual hand through his hair, he studied himself once more. He had the silver blond hair from his father, but he had his mother's icy eyes. It seemed as though the eyes was the only thing that she delivered to him. Oh well, he thought to himself idly.  
  
Draco looked back at his locker for a moment and then pulled out his family heirloom. It was a gold ring, the crest of Malfoy carved into the black of the stone. His father had given it to him only that year, believing that he was ready for it to be passed down. The ring was a tad too big for his finger but it would have to do. Slipping it onto his Quiditch-callused middle finger; he brought his hand up to the light to gaze at it. Quite truthfully he did not want the ring. It reminded him once more of why he was in the world. He was not in the world to exist. He only was there to continue the line of blood. But he also felt quite proud to be bearing the ring. It meant that his father thought he was ready. Perhaps his father did accept him.  
  
"Malfoy, you almost ready?" Came a voice. Draco turned from the mirror to see Blaise Zabini, the captain of the Quiditch team. Blaise leaned halfway out the door, her eyes slightly narrowed as she saw Draco gloating in front of the mirror. Turning around to face the captain, he narrowed his eyes as well. He was in no mood to get a lecture from her. He knew very well what his priorities were during the game. Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, he actually had a properly working brain inside of his skull. Grabbing his nimbus two thousand and one, he hefted it onto his shoulder, tossing his head back defiantly.  
  
"Now see here, Malfoy. I don't think it's appropriate to have to remind you that you are to catch the snitch. The idea is to not let that Potter get it." Blaise started, saying each word slowly as if she was speaking to some inferior child. As if he was some sort of thickheaded git. Who does she think I am? Crabbe and Goyle? Glaring deeply, Draco replied,  
  
"I know very well what to do, Zabini." Draco snapped, furiously brushing past her, shoulders knocking. Straightening his back, he swaggered past the other fellow players on the team. He could feel their eyes. It was like this uncomfortable prickling on the back of his neck. Let them think what they wanted. He could almost feel the doubt rising in the air like a hovering cloud. The air was so thick, he could definitely smell it. Crisp, the air was crisp and about to be filled with flying Quiditch players. Spotting Crabbe and Goyle, he made his way over to them. They were trying to hit each other with their beater bats like the moronic goons they were. As he stood there waiting to fly, he silently thanked Merlin that his father no longer came to any of the Quiditch matches. The goal of his life was to finally please his father but he found that rather hard when always playing the part of the loser during Quiditch. He could not deal with the shame in his father's steely, cold eyes. It was shame like that, that anchored him to the stone wall like a prisoner held by chains. Wounds reopened and pain filled his being as he remembered the night after his very first game in his second year. He had left the hospital wing, his brand new broomstick streaked with mud. His new broom had been caught after narrowly missing a bludger, sending him flying through the air to land on his bum.  
  
He could remember the way they all crowded around Potters bed. They cared for him, they wondered if he was alright. They all loved him like the celebrity he was. His fellow Slytherin players could only watch him with pity. He knew what was to come. His father had watched it all. Now as he made his way out of the hospital wing alone, he walked glumly down the stairs to the dungeons. It was then that he halted. Footsteps sounded in the distance. Footsteps along with the sound of a staff hitting on the ground as they walked. A staff with a serpent's head perched menacingly atop. A staff that could only belong to one person. Draco watched transfixed, frozen in cold fear as his Father slowly approached him. His white hair glowed like ethereal light, his tall form cloaked in heavy darkness. Even from a distance he could see the deep shame and disappointment plastered along his face, his cheekbones tightened with grit teeth. That face, that expression. He loathed and dreaded it. One day, he would be the very mirror of the man approaching him.  
  
"Hello, Father..." Draco whispered, shamed from the distinct fear trembling in his voice. Looking down, he realized his fingers were shaking almost violently. Were fathers supposed to provoke such fear in their own flesh and blood? But somehow he a very good reason to fear this man, this death eater. Loss was something not greatly appreciated in his line of family. He had lost. He had lost to Potter in his first Quiditch match. And now he would pay. He would pay dearly. Malfoys did not loose. They never lost; there was only victory among purebloods. He had just brought shame to his family name; he brought shame to the house of Slytherin. Draco knew he deserved what was coming to him. He deserved to be punished.  
  
"Look at me while you are speaking, Draco," Said the cold voice. Very slowly he raised his chin, determined to show the sheer defiance in his eyes. Defiance was something his father actually admired in him. He would show him that he was not weak, he was strong, emotionless. The protest in his eyes wavered for a moment before crashing into a million pieces like the shattering of a glass mirror. Each small shard of defiance slowly diminished like a cloud of smoke. Any hope of admiration was gone. There was a moments silence before Lucius spoke.  
  
"You have lost, dear boy..." Lucius whispered, his eyes piercing his, making the young boy feel like a deer caught in headlights. Their eyes simply watched each other for a moment before a crack rung out through the darkly lit corridor. The father of the young Malfoy had his gloved hand still raised in an arch of the air. Draco let out a shivering breath, his hand clutching his red cheek. His pale skin was marred with a flushed pink, burning like a blush. Yes, but he deserved it. He deserved every last blow. He wanted the shame to be struck out of him. He did not want to be weak. He wanted to be like his Father. Only then would he be happy. Only then would his father might actually be proud of him.  
  
"That, Draco, is what failure feels like. Look me in the eye while I speak!" Lucius bellowed, his hand coming in contact with his son's again. Draco bared his teeth, fighting against the stinging in his skin. This is what he wanted. Squeezing his eyes shut, he straightened his back like a board and held his head erect. Ignore the pain, ignore it, he told himself. You aren't weak. You aren't feeling this. There is no such thing as pain. Father told you pain is inhumane, foolish. Only something for mudbloods like Granger.  
  
"You fancy being weak? Do you like pain?!" He barked, his serpent staff clamoring to the stone floor as his free hand came up to strike his twelve year old again. Fighting the whimper deep in his throat, he could feel the pain from every finger of his Fathers hand as he continuously hit his face. This was indeed what failure felt like. He did not like it. He did not like it at all. Silence filled the corridor once more as Lucius stopped his beating, and flipped his hair over his shoulder, adjusting his robes quite casually. He looked down at his son with disgrace as tears streamed down the contours of his pale cheeks. Leaning over, father Malfoy roughly took his son's chin in his hand. Draco went rigid under his touch and looked into his eyes. Show him you're not in pain. Show him you're strong. Lucius used the tip of his thumb to brush the tears away, his lips pursed angrily. He then looked at his fingers, examining the tears he had brushed from his son's face in disgust as if it were blood.  
  
"You are never to cry again. Is that clear?" He said to Draco, his eyes smoldering with cruel fire. You are disgusting, Draco, he mentally told himself. The last time he had actually cried was years ago and while not in anyone's company. Now he had shown tears of humiliation, tears of pain. But what were tears anyway? Were tears the faucets in which our pain is released from our bodies? But how could he feel pain. He was taught never to feel that certain emotion. But that mirror of defiance quickly rebuilt itself. Forming like a fog amidst his eyes.  
  
"Yes, sir!" He bellowed, his eyes wide. Lucius gave him one left penetrating glance before roughly brushing past him, his black cloak billowing out. Draco did not even turn to see him leave; he only let out a shuddering breath while willing himself not to collapse to the floor. His cheeks were in brutal fire and the last of his tears fell from his stone gray eyes. Anger, pure loathing filled his being as he held his red cheeks. Him. He was his father and that's how he was treated. No love, no compassion. Nothing! To Lucius Malfoy, he was only the one who would carry on being in Voldemorts inner circle once he passed. He was only there to exist. To become him... Growling as he turned toward the corridor where his father had left through minutes ago, he screamed. Such malevolence shone brightly in his eyes that it could have made Voldemort burst into tears.  
  
"I hate you, Father! I hate you! I hate you all!!!! And, I hate you Harry Potter!"  
  
He screamed this, his voice trembling in abandoned fury. These horrid words of vile loathing escaped his thin white lips, anger cracking the corners of his mouth. Never had he felt such bitter hatred. It ran through him, all the way down the very tips of his toes. It rolled throughout his very veins. This was all Potters fault. If Potter hadn't caught the snitch then he would never even have deserved this. It was Potters fault! His entire fault! He hated him! He wanted him to suffer! He wanted Harry Potter to die. He wanted Harry Potter to rot at the end of Voldemorts wand. Only would he be happy when Harry Potter was dead...  
  
Seventh year Draco Malfoy came tumbling out of the memory as someone clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. Blinking a few times, snapping back to reality, he turned to see Goyle motioning to the Quiditch field. Ah yes, the game. The game he was dreading. But renewed energy pumped sharply through his pure-wizarding blood. The memory from second year reminded him of how much indeed he wanted Harry Potter to suffer most horribly. Pushing the memory of his Fathers disgrace filled eyes; he picked up his broomstick and followed his fellow players onto the pitch. Mounting his nimbus two thousand and one, he flew out from the locker rooms.  
  
Sunlight spilled into his eyes as he soared through the air, his green robes fanning out in the wind. Winters chill crept down his spine and ice wind nipped at his face and hands. A rushing sensation filled his body as the roar from the crowd came to his ears. Banners of green, blue, yellow and the loathed color red flashed in the air. Already, the Gryffindor players were zooming through the air. Scowling so deeply that wrinkles formed on his pale face, Draco tightened his grip on his broomstick. He flew near the top of the pitch to be aligned with his fellow players while the Quiditch captains shook hands. Both Harry and he caught each others eyes and glares were shared. You're going down, Potter. I swear it, he thought to himself ominously. The snitch would be his.  
  
Madam Hooch slowly walked onto the field, her black and white robes billowing out at her feet. She looked up at all of them carefully from under her massive wind goggles. In one hand she daintily held her Quiditch Whistle. Each eye of the flying eyes watched her intently, waiting for her to release the balls from the wooden trunk. Each ball in that trunk was of great importance to certain players.  
  
"I want a clean game!" Madam Hooch bellowed from below them. She leaned down and grasped the quaffle. He could see the chasers of both teams slightly lean over on their broomsticks, their eyes never leaving the ball held by the Quiditch referee. Their fingers no doubt itched to grab at the main ball.  
  
"Today's game is Slytherin versus Gryffindor!" Boomed the voice of Seamus Finnigan, who in his sixth year had taken over for Lee Jordan. The Gryffindor was sitting next to professor McGonagall who was watching his suspiciously for any biased comments he might have picked up from their former announcer. Draco watching intently for when Hooch threw up the quaffle. Wind ran through his hair like a sharp knife, stinging his frozen cheeks. By the deep gray of the endless sky, it looked as if it might snow any minute. That was the last thing he needed. A roar from the surrounding crowd shattered his thoughts, telling him that the game had begun. Flashes of color zoomed past him as he made for the top of the field to watch for the miniscule golden snitch. Harry soared close by, his eyes ever observant. He was nearly lying across the top of his broom, his head twisting back and forth to seek the same treasure he himself sought.  
  
"The game begins as Madam Hooch releases the quaffle! And what a game it will be!" He bellowed, his eyes wide. Yes, what a game it would be. Who would walk away the victor? Who would be burdened with the weights of failure? Whose nimble fingers would grasp that sneaky snitch first? Slytherin or Gryffindor. The battle of favorites had already been won as the players zoomed over the pitch. Gryffindor clearly gained the support of all houses over the years.  
  
Draco tuned the voice of the commentator out as his eyes ravaged the field. Where was that sneaky little blighter? The snitch had to be somewhere. He had to get it. It was his. He could not let Potter get it. Not again... His silver, blond hair gently brushed against his temples as green and red clad Quiditch players flew past him. The main ball was already in possession and the bludgers soared like wasps across the field, ready to sting.  
  
"Dean Thomas has the quaffle! Go get 'em, Dean! You beat those nasty Slytherins!" Seamus could only manage a sheepish shrug to Snape who threw him a rather dirty look. Those biased remarks were already bubbling heatedly in Seamus's chest. The crowd was erupting with cheers for their favorite teams. Mostly Gryffindor, Draco noted to himself silently. Team spirit lingered in the air, you could almost smell it. Such a sweet smell it was to those who bore an air of excitement. But it left a bitter taste in a certain seekers mouth.  
  
"Quaffle to Bulstrode! Quaffle intercepted by Ginny Weasley! A great chaser, that one! Wait! Crabbe nearly knocked the lights out of Weasley with a bludger! Quaffle to Zabini!"  
  
The quaffle soared through the air toward one of the three towering hoops as Blaise Zabini aimed for a victory. But Ron was their first; catching the ball and hurling it back toward his fellow players. Draco's eyes locked on Ron's for a moment. Scowling loathingly, he turned his head back to the action below him. He could feel the Weasley shooting withering death glares in his direction but chose to ignore it. The snitch was his main priority. His only priority. Certainly not that filthy scum Potter. But he could not let him win again. He wanted to win, and only him.  
  
"Great Scott! That fat lubber, Goyle, just nearly knocked Netta Rolf off her broom! A sneaky- Oi! Sorry professor! No need to become violent." Professor Mcgongall sat back down on the bench, her wand still in hand after whacking Seamus on the head. Lee Jordan would have evidently been proud. The crowds of Slytherin howled in disappointment as Ginny Weasley belted the quaffle through the Slytherin Hoops. Blaise Zabini soared past her roughly, muttering curses under her breath. The stand of Gryffindor were on their feet, waving their banners madly. Draco spat in disgust as he silently wished that each and every member of team clothed in red would somehow fall off their brooms. Some start for the house of the serpent.  
  
"Quaffle to Rolf, who dives around Bulstrode! A nice dive that was, Rolf! - Wait! Quaffle gained by Slytherin chaser Morag Mcdougal! He's flying like an eagle up there! Not much action yet for the two seekers Draco Malfoy and the fabulous Harry Potter! Rolf back in possession of the quaffle - dodges a bludger - almost there! - And. NO!" Bellowed Seamus. Millicent Bulstrode pelted the quaffle out from under Netta Rolf's arm and was heading back toward the Gryffindor Posts. Even from a distance, Draco could hear Pansy screaming above the rest of her classmates. Like a wolf howling up at the moon. Yes, there was certainly blood of a hound, no doubt, running through her veins. Harry was circling the pitch, impatiently wondering where the speck of gold was. It certainly was hiding, he noticed.  
  
Draco let out a laugh of glee as his team finally scored, Ron glowering fiercely. His laughter, however, was short lived as he spotted Harry making a nose dive toward the pitch. Yes, this was it! Tilting the head of his broom down, he sped forward. The golden snitch had been spotted! In a matter of minutes, Malfoy was neck to neck with Harry whose arm was outstretched.  
  
"One side, Potter!" Draco screamed, elbowing Harry as he soared next to him. Harry grunted and glared, but nonetheless did not take his eyes off the tiny golden ball fluttering away in the distance. The snitch was what they sought. It was the treasure that would lead one of their teams into a shining victory, once step closer to the much desired Quiditch cup. Green robes mingled bitterly with red robes. Screams of encouragement came from the crowds as the scene that took place was registered and digested.  
  
"Would you look at that! The snitch has been sighted and our two seekers are neck to neck trying to catch that little bugger! Meanwhile, the score is currently Gryffindor leading Slytherin with thirty to twenty!" Gryffindor had the lead for now, but would that last? In the end, would Slytherin rein with the halos of victory, the serpent spinning itself around them? Draco found that he could only think about not only the snitch not too far in front of him, but also how much he wanted Harry to not get it. It's mine. It must be mine, he thought to himself, his mouth frowning deeply in concentration. He could see Harry's jet bet black hair in the corner of his eye, contrasting so remarkably with the glow of his white blond locks.  
  
"Just look at those two! Malfoy surely looks evil, doesn't he?! A devious little -"  
  
"FINNIGAN!" Growled Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Just telling the truth, Professor," Muttered Seamus, avoiding the daggers in his transfiguration teacher's eyes. "Ginny Weasley flying like a comet up there! She's got the quaffle - and GRYFFINDOR SCORES! She certainly scored that one! Oh no! Zabini is in possession of the quaffle - gets loose of Thomas and leads Denis Creevey on a chase! She side flies Weasley and scores a goal for Slytherin!" Ron was silently throwing a fit, flying almost wildly in front of his hoops.  
  
Meanwhile, the snitch was leading the two seekers on a thrilling and bewildering chase. It zoomed to the left, then the right. Both Harry and Draco continued to chase it like a pair of cats on one mouse. The Slytherin was well aware of the dull pain filling his arm as he continued to hold his hand out, ever grasping air. Harry was slightly bearing his teeth, his fingers twitching to find the snitch.  
  
"It's going to be mine, scar head." He growled, turning sharply to look at Harry. The only reply he got was a fierce glare and the sight of his scar. That very scar was the bane of his existence. It was that scar that reminded him that Harry Potter was somehow better than him. With great brutality, mixed in a haze with hate, Draco elbowed Harry again. He wanted the seventh year Gryffindor to feel pain. He wanted him to feel what pain was. No one could understand what it was to feel the hand of your kin beat you. No one could understand that there was nothing in the world that he wanted more then to gain respect from his father. He wanted Lucius Malfoy to be proud of the son he had brought up. The son and man he created. The monster he created...  
  
Such an adrenaline filled his veins that he could feel the blood rushing to his head as both he and Potter raced in unison into a deep dive. The snitch was continuing them on a merry chase, daring them to give up or die trying. They were hurtling toward the ground. Deeper and deeper they dived. The audience held their breaths hitched in their breaths like a fish caught in a net. Not a soul dared look away as the two seekers continued to come closer to the ground. Who would rise out of the dive first? Would someone willingly hit the ground at such a speed just to catch the tiny, golden snitch? A well known, bushy haired prefect clutched her chest, her eyes following the two fellow seventh years. Her heart was beating frantically, the very beat sounding like a gallop through her blood. She could hear nothing; she could not focus on anything but the two streaks of red and green. Dear Merlin, she unconsciously whispered under her breath.  
  
"Pull up... Dear god, pull up..." She murmured. Hermione's prayers were answered as the snitch fluttered up from its dive and high into the air again. A hush of relief swept across the stands like a wave and Seamus Finnigan let out a loud whoop. Hermione fell back in her seat, willing herself to breathe and forcing some energy into her body so that she could scold Harry for being so daring just then. Harry and Draco strained from their deep angle and were now soaring amongst their teammates again.  
  
"A bloody close one! I reckon that move will go into Quiditch for all ages! Ruddy wicked, that was! Now back to the game that seems to have been put on hold. Ginny Weasley had just gained the quaffle, Morag Mcdougal is tailing her like a leprechaun on gold. He kinda looks like one if I do say so myself..."  
  
"I'm warning you, Finnigan!" Barked McGonagall.  
  
"Sorry, Professor! The snitch had flown out of site for our two seekers and Weasley still has the quaffle. Ouch! That's going to hurt tomorrow! Beaters Crabbe and Goyle have just pelted a bludger at our favorite beater, Colin Creevey. That was most disgusting foreplay. Nasty business, Quiditch is. Zabini in possession of the quaffle - she sidetracks - Oh wait! Dean Thomas has the quaffle - he makes for the hoops - Oh no! Bulstrode is getting rough and has knocked the quaffle away, - Merlin's beard! A great save by our own Ron Weasley. You are indeed the king who does not let the quaffle in!," The roars of the crowd were now being joined with old choruses of 'Weasley is our king'. The Slytherin's booed and hissed as the stands around them took light of their song and edited it for their own using.  
  
"Yes! What a comeback! Colin Creevey has just gotten that great, big blob of lard people call Crabbe! Oi! Alright, I won't call any of the team members a big blob of lard anymore, professor McGonagall. But anyway! Colin's swinging that bat like a madman, pelting bludgers left and right. Thomas and Denis Creevey are guarding Weasley who's got the quaffle again - just a bit closer - Wait, that sod Zabini has got it - wait!- no! - wait again! Rolf is flying like a threstal! Hmm... By the look on her face, it seems she does not like being compared to a threstal. Sorry, luv!"  
  
Netta Rolf threw the ball through one of the three, great hoops, raised a fist of victory and the ring of a score wavered in the air. The Gryffindors were stamping their feet along with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws whilst the Slytherins spat at the field.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR SCORES AGAIN! Look! It's the snitch and it seems Draco Malfoy is already on it! Go get that ruddy git, Harry!" Seamus Finnigan could only let out muffled cheers as Professor Snape stood while attempting to get the biased announcer out of the box. Professor Dumbledore, who sat nearby, could only chuckle softly while watching the game over his half-moon spectacles.  
  
Draco Malfoy could hear nothing but the wind in his ears as he soared through the air, excitement pumping through him in spasms. He had gotten the head start on the snitch. Now it would be his. Only his. Victory would be held by not Harry Potter... But by Draco Malfoy. The first thing he would do after the match was right a letter to his father telling him all about how he caught the snitch and how Potter fell off his broom and landed himself in the hospital wing. A bit tweaking of a good story couldn't hurt. His pale, numb from the cold finger were outstretched, the golden ball fluttering almost carefree a few feet away from his. Draco licked his lips, hungry from the elation passing over him. Almost there... Just a bit farther and it's yours. You could almost taste the gold metal of that dodgy snitch. He lay nearly horizontal across his broomstick, stretching his arm as far as he could go. His Quiditch robbers were flapping like rippling flags behind him. Uttering a cry as he felt his fingers at last touch a buzzing wing, he was about to declare himself the winner. The Slytherin stands were howling in excitement. For once, Slytherin would win! For once, Gryffindor would be the defeated. I have got it, he said to himself.  
  
But a sudden sharp pain in his ribs made him turn to see Potter elbowing him in the stomach while he himself was grasping for his trophy. No, it would not end this way. He would not let him take the spotlight again. Don't concentrate on Potter, you fool! His conscious screamed. But his conscious was soon blocked out but a dull roar from the crowds, slowly becoming louder.  
  
"Go get it, Potter! Go get it, Potter!" The crowd was chanting. Draco could only see darkness as the words thundered around him. They were not cheering for him. They did not want him to win. They wanted the great Harry Potter that they all loved to win. Draco Malfoy was to be left in the dust again. His icy gray eyes were clouded as the leather clad fingers touching the snitch grasped air. The students of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry continued to scream and shout. The chant rose louder and louder until it echoed throughout the field like a burst of song. The next thing he knew, Harry was soaring high into the air again, holding up the golden snitch.  
  
He had lost...  
  
Again...  
  
"HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!!!! GRYFFINDOR WINS!! And what a game it was!! Gryffindor has beaten those dirty, rotten tarts! You stink, Slytherin!!" Seamus was screaming, Snape nearly throwing the student over his shoulder to haul him out of the box. The house of the lion was screaming in victory, flying excited loops around Harry who had descended off his broomstick. The snitch was fluttering madly in his hand, the wings peaking in through his fingers. Ron had landed and was slapping the boy who lived heartily on the back. Ginny had nearly thrown herself into his arms and gave a very surprised Harry a great big kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Victory is ours!" Collin Creevey bellowed, pumping a shaking fist in the air whilst his other hand clutched his bleeding nose. Denis Creevey had somehow attained his older brother's camera and was flashing away at his other teammates. Hermione had run from the stands, a grin playing on her lips as she made her way toward her friends. The stands were on their feet, waving their banners wildly as if they had just won a war. They had won. They had beaten the Slytherins again. Running fast, her brown curls bouncing, she hugged Harry congratulating him on another win and then hugged Ron. He was keeping her close, his red hair seemingly glowing. Hermione buried her face into his shoulder but froze when she felt a pair of cold eyes stare at her. Opening her eyes and looking over Ron's shoulder, she could see the form of Draco Malfoy walking by, his eyes so hard and cold that he could send her to the hospital wing petrified. The prefect stiffened as their eyes met. If looks could kill, she would most certainly be dead by now. An intense, dark aura seemed to haze around his body like poison. A split image of Lucius Malfoy flashed ominously before her orbs. The Weasley keeper sensed her discomfort and turned to see who was behind him. Hermione felt Ron's grip around her slightly tighten as the two boy's glared loathing at one another. Not again, she thought to herself. The prefect badge on her chest seemed to be buzzing a warning through her skin like a distant prickling. It told her she should break up the fight before it even began. But her fiery best friend seemed to have plans of his own.  
  
"Sod off, Malfoy." Ron growled. Draco sneered; silently wishing the killing curse was not illegal. He had lost and he was not happy. He was not happy at all. Harry had been promoted to the winners circle once more, while he was left in the dark. Fire flamed in his ice eyes, wishing to melt anyone who dared approach him now. The wand in his robes was itching to use the cruciatus curse. Any sort of pain he could afflict on that Weasley would pleasure him enough to forget about his loss on the field.  
  
"Or what, Weasley-king?" He asked, crossing his arms over his lithe chest. That's right, I dare you, he silently said. Harry was now at Ron and Hermione's side, his lips pursed in a deep frown. Always there for his friends, the great Harry Potter. The savior of the wizarding world and defender against the weak. It made him utterly ill. How he hated the heroes. It was the heroes that should meet an ugly, untimely end.  
  
"Why don't you just bugger off? Everyone knows you're just jealous that Harry has beaten you again." Ron quipped. For a moment, fire splintered before his very eyes, smoldering over each and every form that faced him. Such hatred, such malevolence. Detrimental desire ran through his veins causing his blood to boil like lava in a volcano. Never had he wanted to hurt the Weasley more then he did now. It was more that Ron was truthful that sent his senses ablaze. The truth hurt, it always does when it's not in you're favor. The very truth of his jealousy seemed to have taken its own form and was laughing at him. The bones in Draco's fists cracked as his hands trembled into balls. Hermione was watching him silently, her cinnamon eyes suddenly annoying him. The annoyance just came out of nowhere in particular, but it made him want to hurt her all the more.  
  
"You'll have to come up and buy better insults, but then again... This is a Weasley I'm talking to after all." Draco countered. An unappreciative murmur ran over the Gryffindor Quiditch players who stood behind Harry. Ginny looked like she wanted to pounce and Ron had fire bursting from his ears. Hermione was clutching his arm, telling him not to do something he might regret. But, she then turned to him, her eyes hard.  
  
"You're just being sore, Malfoy. Why don't you use all that energy you spend ruining other people's lives to practice your seeking skills. Then you might actually catch the snitch for once in your life." Hermione replied. Snorts of laughter arose from the group and Ron jabbed Harry in the ribs with a grin. If Draco thought he had been angry with the truth of Ron's words, then it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. Pure anger and hatred was mixed with a swell of admiration. The Slytherin's brows met each other, his mouth forming a snarl. No one talked to him like that and got away from it. Especially not a lowly, scum like mudblood Granger.  
  
"Was I talking to you, Mudblood? Did I ask for you to intervene? But yes, I guess it comes naturally that you have to defend your thick, tosser of a boyfriend. My Father always said that the Weasleys were a dirty, defenseless lot. Almost as dirty as you silt-blooded muggle-borns. " Harry stepped forward, wand out and Ron was practically gnawing at the many arms holding him back. Ginny was screaming every curse word at him, much to his satisfaction, and even Hermione looked as though her bouncy brown curls would catch on fire. The dragon of his house found that he was rather fond of the anger he provoked out of people. Both satisfying and amusing.  
  
"Moody might not be here, but if you're not careful, then we might just have to turn you back into a ferret, Malfoy. But then again, there wasn't that much of a difference in appearance to begin with." Harry growled, his wand shaking slightly in his hand. Draco smirked and crossed his arms, ignoring the laughter hurled at him. They could laugh at him all they wanted. In the end he knew they would all get what they deserved. Then he would be the one laughing.  
  
"Oh, Touché, Potter..."  
  
"Can we please end this moronic argument? McGonagall might see us and -!" Hermione was saying, her eyes searching every corner of the emptying Quiditch field. Draco sniggered under his breath and interrupted.  
  
"What? Are you scared, Granger? Are you scared that McGonagall will take away your little prefect badge? Are you scared she might not think you're that annoying, prissy book worm that you are?" Draco taunted, his voice laden with a sneer. Hermione took a rather bold step closer to him. He made a look of distain, not wanting to be within a foot of her and her mudblood germs.  
  
"Now see here, Malfoy! Just because you're a rotten-!" Hermione did not get to finish her insult for beater Colin Creevey, who had been wrestling one of the dodgy bludgers into the trunk, had suddenly cried out. All heads turned to the source of the yell.  
  
"Look out! Rogue Bludger!" Colin screamed his eyes wide. Before anyone could process what was truly happening, the bludger was flying. Flying right for the group of Quiditch players. It flew like an arrow making its way toward the bull's eye. They saw it; it seemed to move in slow motion. Fear filled the eyes of each student that stood there. Each limb seemed to have been suspended and frozen in the air as the feisty little ball cackled and whizzed, wanting nothing more then to make contact. Who would it hit? Who would be the first to spill blood? Screams and gasps filled the air as the bludger soared by. But a deafening silence wavered when a yell of pain ripped through the air. All eyes turned to the immobile Slytherin as he stood there, his eyes wide, unseeing. Darkness clouded his eyes, his iris disappearing. For once, there was no malice in his eyes. No threat, no malevolence. There was nothing in his eyes. The small brown ball went unmoving from where it seemed impaled in his chest. With a whistle, it fell to the ground dead.  
  
Hermione Granger watched, transfixed, as the bludger fell to the ground, as it had finally had its goal completed. It had picked its target and attacked. Draco Malfoy stood still, his body trembling violently, his mouth opened in a silent scream as pain tore through his very being. The bludger lay at his feet after coming in contact with his chest. He could not breathe, he could not think. There was nothing but pain. Pain was all that existed. Harry and Ron watched, frozen as he released a strangled gasp and seemingly in slow motion, fell...  
  
In a crumpled heap, the seeker of Slytherin lay. A stray lock of platinum hair fell in his eyes and his dark lashes stroked against his pale cheeks. He lay there in the green grass unconscious, frozen in the sensation of paralysis. In the next moment, the Gryffindor team had surrounded him, whispering fearfully to each other. Hermione kneeled down next to him, a strange sense of worry filling her heart. He had gotten what he deserved, did he not? But she was not prepared for the desolation she saw in his icy orbs when the bludger came into bitter contact with his helpless body. Was he ok? How badly was he hurt? Harry had run off to get help and the remaining people in the stands were pointing down where Draco lay. Turning back to the unconscious boy, she leaned forward and put a tentative, hesitant hand to the Slytherin's neck. His skin was ice and that startled her for a moment. Taking in a quaking breath, she checked for his pulse. It beat slow, and dull. Ron was kneeling next to him, his eyebrows drawn together.  
  
"I can't say I like the rotten bugger, but is he alright?" Ron asked. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes troubled. They needed Madam Pomfrey, and they needed her now.  
  
"I'm not sure. The bludger hit him right on. It might have hurt one of his lungs since it rammed into his chest." Hermione said, staring down at Draco. There was something very strange about the way he looked. The usual Malfoy swaggered about, his eyes cold and mixed in a whirlwind of hate and defiance. Now he lay there, defeated in body and soul. It reminded her of a small, peaceful child who was sleeping. The only thing that could tell anyone that he was feeling discomfort was the deep frown frozen on his lips. His green clad chest rose and fell very slowly. Too slowly... While whispers filled the air around her, the prefect could not help but study him. He was a tall boy, lithe and broad shouldered. He was long legged and had silver blond hair with a pointed face and sharp cheekbones. Under the long layer of eyelashes were frozen eyes. Eyes that showed the smug bastard that everyone knew he was. Hermione felt a tad disturbed to find that she was almost pleased at once more seeing the bane of her existence suffering and showing true helplessness. It reminded her that he was indeed human like she was.  
  
"Out of my way!" Yelled a familiar voice. Whipping around, Hermione and Ron looked to see Madam Pomfrey stalking toward them. Professor McGonagall and Snape were following closely behind. Standing up away from the blond seeker with relief, she watched as the school medi-witch kneeled down by Draco, a worried expression across her face. Would he be alright? Harry joined them, watching his arch rival with an unreadable expression. It seemed that Draco's helplessness put a hold on the hate they all felt for him. Until he was better, a cloud of neutrality floated above their heads. The war was dormant for then.  
  
Madam Pomfrey was waving her wand over his chest, pursing her lips tightly. Professor Snape was kneeling down on the other side of Draco, quickly removing the leather Quiditch gloves and wrist guards. McGonagall was trying to lead the remaining students away from the scene. It seemed even the professors knew that Draco would not want any of his fellow students seeing him hurt. It would taint his dignity.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey, will he be alright?" Asked Hermione.  
  
"I am not too sure, Ms. Granger... I think the force of the hit may have punctured one of his lungs," Said the nurse. Eyes widened and whispers were shared hastily. Before anyone could speak, Draco had been lifted on a floating stretcher and was being lead back toward the castle. As he was lifted in the air, his arm fell limply at his side and something gold slipped off his finger. Watching the retreating forms of the professors and the remaining students, Hermione approached the patch of grass where the ring lay. It glittered brightly in the sunlight, but there was something about the piece of jewelry that she did not like or fathom. It was only until she bent to pick it up that she realized why she did not like it. The crest of the Malfoy family was carved into a glassy black stone. Fingering it, the gold seemed to burn in her hands. Snarling, the prefect felt the strong urge to throw it back down onto the ground, step on it, and then melt it with her wand. But it was not hers, nor her decision what was to be done with it. Hesitantly, she placed it into her pocket and decided to pay Malfoy a visit later to return it to him.  
  
Harry and Ron were talking quietly to each other a short distance away for her. The victory of their house went forgotten as talk about what had just happened came about. It was then that Hermione realized that no Slytherin students had been on the field since the game. They seemingly disappeared after the snitches capture by Harry. That lot is probably off sulking their loss, she whispered to herself. Some team they were to not hang around long enough to watch their team mate fall and be in need of aid, possibly some care. Pansy would no doubt give it to him, unless of course she herself felt embarrassed by Draco's loss of victory. That thought alone brought the Gryffindor prefect to the conclusion that not one Slytherin had a heart. Malfoy had given them not a reason to care but that did not stop even her own house mates from calling for help. A bitter taste formed in her mouth. The house of the serpent truly disgusted her.  
  
"Hey, 'Mione! Come on, it's chilly out here. Let's go inside before we freeze our arse's off." Ron called. Hermione gazed at the doorway that Malfoy had been taken into only ten minutes ago. Never would she forget the sight of him defeated. It had been added to her many memorable times at Hogwarts. Her hand closed around the ring in her robe pocket, wind tearing through her hair, bringing the curls to brush along the sides of her face. A gentle song was lifted on through the sharp breeze, whispers floating. Sun set would not be long... Then turning away, Hermione Granger caught up with her friends.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A/N: HEY! I hope u like that chapter! The next one will probably be up next weekend. Please review!  
  
Namaarie  
  
Leanna 


	4. Help me!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the fabulous Jk Rowling. I only own the poetry featured in the beginning of this chapter. So hands off!  
  
Hope u like this chapter! Please review!! Oh and I have decided that this will no longer be only a few chapter fic. This will be a long fic! Woot!  
  
Oh yes, I changed the title of this fic as you already could see. Its former title, Tainted Dragon was very dull and boring. I found it rather monotonous since a lot of other draco authors put the word 'dragon' in their titles as well. I definitely like my new one better. Hopefully u do as well.  
  
And I want to thank my reviewers : Ledlorien, Loriel AKA nina (Christina hehehe) Loretta and everyone else who is supporting me.  
  
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No one's here, no one's there Should I glare, or should I care? I look around, my heart a mess No surprise, I care no less. This room is empty, void of eyes No one knows when someone dies. But I don't care, I'm all alone No where to go, I have no home. To escape this horrid fate, I'll leave right now, through the gate. Down the halls and up the stairs Free from thoughts, free from cares. Sick with pain, I slowly fade Into darkness, from where I laid.  
  
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Go get it, Potter! Go get it, Potter! Go get it, Potter..  
  
Those words echoed shrilly through Draco Malfoy's head, his closed eyelids tightening together. How he hated those words. How he wanted to destroy those bitter words. But they would not stop, they would not cease. It echoed and bounced into every corner of his dark mind, the volume of each word steadily rising until it was an infernal song pounding through his head. Stop, just stop, he seemed to whisper aloud. But it would not. It was getting louder and louder. He was well aware that he was there, yet he was not. The pale boy could not see himself but rather everything around him. But there was nothing around him. Only darkness, void of light, life. But there it was fluttering in the desolation. The miniscule golden snitch. It was so far yet so close. He needed it, he wanted it. But have it, he could not. The words of the crowds were surrounding him now, cloaking him with acidity and poignancy. A scream of rage gathered from the pits of his soul, and hellfire broke loose before the seeker of Slytherin shot up in the air, his eyes flying open.  
  
Pain... Such a pain ripped through his chest like the tearing of paper in half. Bearing his teeth, Draco fell back down onto his back, sweat pouring down his temple. The damned words seemed to be murmuring into his ears, slithering and hissing like a snake. Letting out shuddering breaths, his eyes gazed wildly around his surroundings. Where was he? What time was it? The hospital wing? The last thing he could remember was large cinnamon eyes and then a small, whistling brown ball coming right at him. Then pain. Pain like never before. He could not breathe, could not fathom. And then, darkness. It swallowed him alive and let him in the dusk of nothingness. It was then when the words of the house stands began to rain down upon him. 'Go get it, Potter' they said. What about him? Well of course... Everyone was shadowed next to the great Harry Potter. Did the scar head even realize the people that were left in the darkness because of him?  
  
Draco willed the next intake of air flourish his senses, finding it rather difficult to breathe. His head felt like it was filled with hot air and lights seemed to flash before his eyes. Looking down slightly when a gust of cool air nipped at his shoulder, he could see through his blurry vision that he was still wearing his green Quiditch trousers but his jumper and robe was missing. White bandages were seemingly constricted around the whole circumference of his bare torso. It was nighttime at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Only that morning did he once again loose to the untidy haired Gryffindor. The halo of victory was once held out of reach. Moonlight spilled into the windows and on the floor in glowing puddles. He wanted to sit up, but the only thing he could really do was focus on his next breath. Suffocation unnervingly filled his chest.  
  
"Why is it so damn hard to breathe?" He whispered aloud to himself. Squeezing his eyes shut with a throaty growl, Draco looked around the hospital wing. He was alone. With a sigh of relief he did not see the rather mad Madam Pomfrey anywhere. There was no one. A deep vexed frown slithered its way onto his pale features. For someone who was nearly bloody killed on the field pitch, no one, not even anyone from his own house had come to see if he was alright. Some house, some friends. But then again, he really did not have friends. Only admirers, cronies and enemies. A stray lock of hair fell annoyingly in his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling of the Hospital wing. He needed to get out of there. He needed to show those admirers. Those cronies. Those enemies... He needed to show all of them that he would not be defeated nor put down. He would rule the corridors again by tonight. The Slytherin prince would return to his mighty throne. His servants could not last long without him. Had pain not filled every inch of his body, he would have smirked deeply with satisfaction.  
  
Letting his chin fall back onto his shoulder, he willed another breath into his starving lungs. Why was it so hard to breathe, he asked himself. Did the bludger hit him that hard? Perhaps something more on the inside of his body was damaged then the outside. Draco found that his stiff fingers were itching along the tops of his bandages. He wanted them off. He needed to be able to breathe clearly. The bandages were impossibly tight, even for his thin yet lithe form. They were also itchy. It reminded him of the itchy sweaters he sometimes wore over Christmas time back at Malfoy Manor.  
  
"Ugh, I need to get these bloody things off..." He wheezed, looking to the large double doors of the Infirmary. Good, no one was in sight. No one to stop him. Draco wanted to breathe the free air again. He felt like a lost man in a dessert, crawling yet not being able to make it to a lake of water not to far away. He had suffered enough defeat from his loss on the Quiditch field. He would not worsen his troubles by sulking on a bed in the Hospital. A Malfoy was never one to feel sorry for themselves. Only dirty Weasleys did that. Letting out a disgusted snort, his fingers grabbed for the bonds around his chest. His skin felt cold, though it did not surprise him in the least. Even in warm temperatures, his pale skin was like ice. The eternal icy blanket came from not the outside, but the inside. But that was reassuring. Getting the tips of his Quiditch callused fingers under the hems of the white bandages, he yanked.  
  
A scream of pain worked its way up his throat, but Draco bit down on his tongue. Hard... Swallowing the coppery taste of blood from where he bit down, his fingers fell limp down on the bed. What had happened, he thought to himself as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain tearing through him. He was only half- consciously aware that his breaths were coming in short pants, his lungs seemingly useless. He felt as though he had swallowed a smoke pipe and the fumes were filling every possible contour of his being. No! I must get these ruddy things off and get back to the common room, he inwardly screamed at himself. Tightening his pale jaw, he yanked at the bonds again. He must have looked quite ridiculous trying to free himself from the serpent-like bonds. Yes, this was pain alright. Stabs and stabs of it.  
  
"For Merlin's sake!" Draco hollered, fighting the yelp of pain coming up. With one last savage yank, the bandages were ripped from his torso and fell to the floor. A strangled gasp escaped his open mouth as he fell back onto the bed. Breathe, Malfoy. Just breathe! A wave of cold air swept over his trembling, half-naked form. But he felt nothing. No air, no pain. He was numb. He wanted to cry out for help but he caught himself. Help? Draco Malfoly needed no help! He was alone, and he would always be alone. That's how he was destined to be for all eternity. The Slytherin prince lay there for a few moments like a frail leaf in the wind.  
  
"I should- leave now... Before- that old bat, Pomfrey, comes back..." He whispered, having to stop in between words because of his short breath. What he would do to turn back the hands of time and stop himself from loosing the match. Then no one of this would have ever happened. But wait! A thought suddenly struck through the top of Draco's head. Since when did blame every burden him? This was not his fault. It was HER fault! Granger, that dirty, no good mudblood. It was her fault and hers alone. Cracking his fist menacingly, he whispered to himself.  
  
"I'll get you, Granger... Oh, I'll get you good..." He murmured under his breath, that all too familiar fire filling his pain racked eyes. It was her who now had him sprawled in a Hospital bed, conjuring up his next slow breath. It was her that was making him suffer this. If she hadn't distracted him when the bludger got out of hand, then he could have moved out of the way. But no, she had to provoke him. Provoke him like the bossy- booted prat she was. Smirking rather maniacally, he indulged in the sudden fantasies of torturing her that came to mind. She would be sorry she ever messed with him. He would make sure of it. Renewed excitement pumped eagerly in his veins. Now he had to get out of there. The idea of torturing Granger was all the more of a reason to get as fast as he could out of the hospital wing. Steadying his uneven, forced breathing, he turned over so that he faced the other side of the bed.  
  
Never had his chest hurt like this before. It hurt around the same level, perhaps a little less, when he received the Cruciatus curse from his father. He found a pair of his neatly folded, wealthy black robes lying on the bed beside him. The school medi-witch must have had sent word for someone to bring them down for him.  
  
"Who ever it was must have told the whole ruddy house how pathetic I looked." He hissed to himself. Wincing fiercely as he slightly leaned over to grab hold of the robes, his fingers clenched around the luscious fabric. Grabbing onto the table next to the bed, bearing his teeth, he pulled up onto his feet. His legs felt oddly like lead and his chest felt as though Voldemorts pet snake was constricting around his torso and was squeezing all hopes of air out of his body. It took him a moment to get his needed breath. Checking to make sure no one was coming; he slowly draped the robes around his hunched shoulders. He felt such an overpowering weakness come over him that a scream bubbled in the pits of his stomach.  
  
This was the exact sort of weakness that he loathed. It was the feeling that he loathed almost as much as the golden trio. With weakness came pain. And well, the pain was very evident. Very stiffly Draco was able to lean up and fix the clasps of the robes. Checking to make sure that his wand was safely in his pocket, he suddenly froze. Somehow he felt something was missing. Like a weight of something was distinctly gone. It was then that he noticed that the large shimmering gold was missing from his finger. There was no crest of his family glaring back at him proudly. Draco's grey eyes widened and he dropped to his knees. The pain swelling in his chest tightened, making him clamp his mouth down. Attempting to use as little movement as possible, his hands groped around on the floor, searching for his family heirloom.  
  
The prince of Slytherin hung his head with shame as his fingers only met cold, stone floor. It must have fallen off when getting hit with the bludger. Uttering a sigh, he slowly picked himself up. He had lost perhaps once of the most important things in his blood line. He had lost his fathers ring. His family ring. When he recovered, he would personally go look for it. He would send his two cronies searching every inch of the school until they found it. Or perhaps he could use Pansy as a bloodhound. No doubt, she could probably use that pug nose of hers to search out the scent of the ring. An image of Pansy crawling across the stone floors, her nose to the ground made a snort of derisive laughter escape him. He could only groan softly with the knife of pain that stabbed into him in the process. Grabbing fiercely onto the wall, he took a small step forward, breathing heavily. It indeed would be a long way down into the dungeons, he noted to himself.  
  
Throwing a disgruntled look back at the hospital bed and then turning both ways to see if Madam Pomfrey was in distance, he staggered out of the Hospital wing, his hands clutching his chest. If you were close enough, you could hear the short, strangled breaths escaping his injured lungs. The white snake-like bandages lay on his bed forgotten as the silver dragon of Slytherin crept away into the night, cloaking himself with a sheer blanket of shadow.  
  
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"Hermione?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"Hermione??....."  
  
Once again, no answer.  
  
"Hermione!!??" A voice thundered. The book that was held close up to the bushy-haired Gryffindor fell onto the desk with a loud clatter. The loud call of her name made several first years jump in surprise and knock over their ink bottles. The short tempered prefect glared pointedly at Ron who was waving a hand over her face. Honestly, she wouldn't notice if Voldemort pranced by in pink robes, Ron thought to himself with a grin.  
  
"What is it, Ron?" Hermione snapped, looked down at her book again. Harry could only snort and shake his head knowingly. Ron was offering her a sheepish expression as he ran a hand through his trademark red hair. For someone who was one of her best friends for seven years, he still bothered her during her study times.  
  
"Want to come with me and Harry down to the kitchens?" He asked. Hermione sighed and with a roll of her eyes shook her head. For a moment, she closed her eyes in frustration. The embers of the common room fire delightfully warmed her back as she studied through her charm notes. The very pile of the notes was no doubt enough to be considered a textbook, but that did not bother her in the least. More notes made better accuracy for the exams.  
  
"Ron, you know very well that I can't. Before we know it, N.E.W.T.S will be here and I can't risk getting anything under Outstanding, so if-!" She began; ready to embark on her long, scolding speeches about studying for the seventh year exams. Ron, however, knew what was coming and stopped her before she could officially get started. Harry grinned to himself again, already on his way to the portrait hole. Tonight was a good night. Though it was very cold from the winter's icy chill, it was nothing that a good warm butterbeer couldn't settle, he noted to himself as he waited for his companions. Harry found that he was still a tad giddy from Gryffindors victory earlier, even though the afternoon ended with Draco Malfoy being carried away on a floating stretcher.  
  
"We get it, Hermione. But we'll bring you back something," Ron said, a lazy, lopsided grin resting on his face. Hermione promptly nodded her head, her bushy curls flying in an array around her thinking space. Her brows were aligned with immediate concentration, her fingers already grasping her well written notes. Her look of studying thought quickly vanished as she stood from her chair by the fireplace. One last thing, she thought to herself.  
  
"Don't forget to tell Dobby that I said hi!" Hermione yelled back to her friends. Harry nodded before he and Ron disappeared out into the corridors. Sitting back down in her comfy chair, she sighed to herself. As much as it looked like she was studying, she really found that she could not. The carefully written charm notes were a blur as her eyes stared down at the paper, yet her mind soared through the air and away from her body. Unconsciously stroking the feather of her favorite eagle-feathered quill, the lion of Gryffindor sat back and looked to the flames under the mantelpiece. Her free hand slid from her lap and into her robe pocket. When her fingers were met with a disturbing cold sensation, she grabbed and pulled it out. The ring lay nestled in the palm of her hand, the flames licking across its surface. The glossy black stone caught some light and reflected of the wall like a mirror. It was large, very flashy and very evil, she noted silently. It was his ring... Malfoy's...  
  
She remembered the way it slipped off his limp hand as he was carried away. It lay there in the green grass, seemingly burning all the ground around it. It was forged by evil and worn by evil. It was that fact alone that greatly frightened her. Who knew how many death eaters and murderers had worn that intricate piece of jewelry before being hand down to Draco. Who knew if the blood of innocence had touched that ring? She wasn't about to go up to Malfoy and ask him either. Perhaps it had been a mistake to take it and return to Malfoy. No doubt he would probably accuse her of stealing it or something. And yes, call her a mudblood. His drilling words echoed in her head. He called her silt-blooded. Anger gathered within her fiery heart, causing waves of it to roll through her. Why feel any sympathy for that smug bastard, she reprimanded. He deserved that bludger! He deserved that.  
  
"Hmmm... You don't sound any better than Malfoy..." Her conscious said. With sudden realization, she came to the conclusion that the small voice in the back was right. She was no better than Malfoy is she wished pain upon another being that was just being mean. Shaking away the bitter contempt she had for the silver haired boy, she looked down at the ring again. The common room fire looked so tempting. Just throw it in, a voice said. It's that ring that stands up for that ominous Lucius Malfoy. Someday, if not soon, Draco would take that place in his shoes. Death eater cloak and all. But it did not matter. He was certainly not her family, nor was the ring hers. Its fate indeed rested with the injured Slytherin seeker. Why he would want this tacky piece of costume jewelry was beyond her. But the ring was strangely alluring, yet its aura made her want to retch. Hermione was so in tune with her thoughts that a familiar voice startled her, making the ring fall into her lap.  
  
"Hey, Hermione. What's that you got there," Asked Ginny. Hermione let out a heavy breath of relief. Scooping up the ring from the folds of her black robes, she hesitantly handed it over to Ginny. The younger sister of Ron studied it close for a moment before her eyes went wide. Exactly the reaction I was expecting, the prefect thought to herself with a small smile. The Weasleys being one of the top rivals of the Malfoys was clearly evident. Hermione could see the battle forming in her friend's eyes as she inspected it.  
  
"Blimey Hermione, where did you get this? Isn't this Draco Malfoys family ring?" Ginny asked while looking closely at the large M. Hermione could only nod slowly. Ginny sat there on the arm of the red couch, holding up the large piece of jewelry to the light of the roaring fire before snorting in disgust. The Gryffindor chaser practically threw the ring back down on her notes. The two girls sat for a moment, the both of them glaring at it. Hermione finally let the tension pass when she felt that the ring was having too much power over their emotions. Not even jewelry of Draco Malfoy would put her down.  
  
"I picked it up after Malfoy got hauled away. I'm going to go to the hospital wing in a little while and give it back to him." She said at last. Ginny looked at her, disbelief flashing across her pretty features. Visit Malfoy? Alone? Looking around, she sighed as she noticed neither Ron nor Harry in the common room. They were probably skulking around under his invisibility cloak to get food from the house-elves in the kitchen.  
  
"You're not serious, Hermione? Who knows what that rotten sod will do to you..."  
  
Hermione sighed, silently agreeing with the redhead. Regret of ever picking it up flushed over her, tainting her cheeks with a light pink. But no, she would not back down. Looking over at the large clock on the wall, she decided it was time to go pay the 'rotten sod' as Ginny put it, a visit. Ginny, seeing that her friend was actually going to do it let her mouth hang open agape. She quickly shut her fish mouth and licked her dry lips. She had the sick feeling that Draco hated Hermione above the rest of them because of her blood line. Something told her that he would no doubt hurt her if given the chance. The red head knew that her bushy-haired friend needed no help defending herself, but there was something about Malfoy that she found intimidating. Why Hermione of all people was going to face Malfoy alone was beyond her. If that dirty bugger lays a hand on her, I'll make it me and the whole Weasley family's business to kick his rich arse, she said to herself. Hermione seemed to have sensed her thoughts because she suddenly laughed.  
  
"I think I can handle Malfoy, Ginny." Hermione said with a grin. Smirking defiantly at the haughty piece of gold, she stuffed it into her robe pocket, determined to be rid of its horrid weight. She felt uncomfortable with it resting in her pocket. She had the sinking feeling that studying would not come so naturally unless that ring was either destroyed or back in the possession of The Slytherin prince. Ron's younger sister suddenly had this glint of mischievousness flashing innocently in her dark eyes.  
  
"Remember, if that blighter tries anything then stick your wand up his-!" Ginny began fiercely, making wild hand gestures with her own wand.  
  
"Ginny!" Exclaimed Hermione with a horrified expression. Uttering a sheepish expression, Ginny pointed cheekily to her wand. The prefect laughed at this. She needed some mirth for the fellow seventh year she was heading over to see. She wondered silently if Malfoy would even be awake and able to receive visitors. Her friend was still waving her wand around in a fit of giggles. Rolling her eyes exasperatingly, all though she could not help but smile, Hermione put her hands to her hips.  
  
"Oh! Get out of here before I take five points away from Gryffindor." Hermione shrieked walking to the portrait hole. She could hear Ginny's loud laughter before the portrait closed before her. Harry and Ron were no where in sight and she could not help but feel relief that she would not have to explain her little night stroll out in the castle. Patting the pocket to reassure herself that the ring was there, she started. The fat lady gave a snort in her sleep and opened her eyes.  
  
"Dear, where do you think you're going? Night hours are just about over," said the portrait. The pink-dressed picture seemed to be a bit angry that she was once again awoken. Before one could blink an eye, Hermione was already speaking.  
  
"Prefect duties," She stated, a hand lingering upon her polished badge. The fat lady arched an almost knowing expression but stayed silent nonetheless. She waved out her hand dismissively before closing her eyes again. Hermione glanced once more at the portrait before turning away and sucking in a great intake of fresh air. It was cool that evening of Hogwarts. Soon enough, everyone would be tucked under their warm sheets, closing their eyes while the sun slept in a blanket of stars. Morning, the moon would let the sun takes its daily shift and hide behind the mountains until evening could come again.  
  
Dark bushy curls disappeared into the darkness of the corridors and her robes cast night's cover.  
  
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"Merlin's beard... I... Can't breathe..." Murmured a wheezing voice. A trembling hand clutched his heaving chest, the other weakly gripping a curve in the stone wall. It had taken him nearly ten minutes to get all the way down to the end of the corridor. He had to keep stopping to catch his breath and check to make sure he was not caught by Madam Pomfrey. If he had felt suffocated with just the bandages wrapped tightly around him, it was nothing to what he felt now. Draco felt as though he were slowly fading, each breath becoming harder and harder. His lungs were choking, sobbing in bitter despair. The long, dark black robes felt impossibly heavy on his hunched over body. A few messy locks of platinum hair fell almost teasingly into his eyes. Pain constricted with every inhale and exhale of breath. But this was worth it, was it not? If he stayed there, sulking in the hospital wing, then he would indeed be living up to the expectation of being ever weak. But even he could feel no pride as he impossibly made his way down to the dungeons.  
  
Stopping yet again to heave a great breath, he leaned against the stone wall, eyes squeezed shut in defiance. How the hell he was supposed to walk into the Slytherin common room with a high head and long, striding walk was beyond his imagination. He would probably kill himself in the process. It was like asking Crabbe and Goyle to actually think! Draco hugged his arms over his torso for a moment before starting forward again. His feet dragged across the floor as if heavy chains were bound around his thin ankles. A small bead of sweat ran down the side of his temple.  
  
"I must... look like I just... fell off my bloody broom..." He whispered, gritting his teeth. He certainly didn't look like how he hoped he would. He could only imagine the look upon Madam Pomfrey's face when she realized that one of her patients had escaped the infirmary. He could have laughed at the mental image. He would have if he didn't feel like someone was stabbing their wand through the front of his chest and out of his back. Taking a few steps forward, he thought of all the days' events. This was possibly the worst day he had had in a long while. Morning through the afternoon, losing yet again to that insufferable git, Potter. After the game, he had been pelted down with a rogue bludger and fainted much to his dismay in front of the whole Gryffindor team. Evening, he wakes up to find that he was in a sad state in the hospital wing, hardly able to bloody breathe. Yes, this day had certainly been awfully peachy, he thought to himself angrily. Perhaps he would fall down the longest stair case in the castle to top off the frosting on the cake. Draco's 'great' day would not be finished without him killing himself first.  
  
Looking down the corridor, he had to look closely because the loss of air in his lungs seemed to be taking a toll on his concentration. The corridor itself seemed to be curving left and right. The light of the torches were dancing in circles around his head. This would be a long night indeed. All he wanted now was to be curled up in his bed, under the covers and healthily breathing. Even he would rather be hearing Crabbe and Goyle strike up the band with their snoring Symphony then in a dark hall, barely able to see his nose in front of him. The silence in the corridor was in a sense: deafening. So silent, yet so loud at the same time. This was the sort of silence that you could almost taste on the tip of your tongue. It would not bother him so much if his forced breathing didn't sound like a ruddy dragon's roar. Walk, damn it! Draco whispered to himself. The grip around his lungs seemed to only be getting tighter and he unconsciously winced. Could he really make it all the way down into the dungeons to the Slytherin house? His pale fingers tightened on the stone wall and nearly lay against the wall.  
  
He was drowning. He was drowning though there was no water. All traces of air seemed to diminish from the insides of his body. His blood began to boil, his senses blurring. His stinging eyelids drooped on their own accord and he was only acutely aware of the fuzzy feeling blooming in his head. Maybe he should just sleep now. Yes, sleep is nice, Draco thought to himself, his knees buckling. His back slowly slid down the side of the wall as he made contact with the cold floor. There was a small voice in the very back of his mind telling him not to fall asleep. But what did that voice know anyway. A Malfoy did not take orders from anyone or anything.  
  
"If you wish to continue breathing then I suggest that you keep yourself awake." The voice said. A prickling sensation in the back of his neck kept his chin from nodding onto his chest. Well, he certainly wanted to keep breathing even though it was hard enough now. He would rest there for a few moments and then go down to the dungeons. It was not like anyone would be waiting up for him. They could go a little longer without their serpent prince. Yes, they could definitely wait a bit longer...  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Hermione walked the corridor, her cinnamon brown eyes watchful. She was nearly at the grand, double doors of the Hospital wing when a loud yell came from inside. On first instinct since Voldemort's return, Hermione pulled out her wand and ran through the doors, ready to fight. Hexes would fly and the Lion of the Gryffindor would roar in victory. But her arm fell limply at her side when only facing the sight of Madam Pomfrey standing near a bed, a stream of white bandages in her hand. Her lips were pursed and she looked ready to kill. The witch's hair seemed to stand on edge from under the white hat.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey? Are you alright?" Hermione asked. The medi-witch jumped in surprise and whipped her head to see the bushy-haired prefect. Her eyes were wide and her face was tight. At first glance, she looked related to Minerva McGonagall. She only needed the black bun and the large horn-rimmed glasses. If looks could kill, she would have been gone a long while ago.  
  
"Miss Granger! What are you doing here at this time?" She asked, scooting around the bed and folding the disarrayed bandages. Hermione looked apologetic as she slowly put her wand back in her pocket and folded her hands in front of her. She wondered what could be causing the witch so much distress. Taking in a deep breath, she answered.  
  
"I needed to return something to Mister Malfoy." Even she, the prefect and bookworm of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry, would never, ever let Malfoy's first name come out of her mouth in his presence. But then it dawned to her. Where was the overbearing git? The only occupants currently in the Infirmary were her and the medi-witch. It was then that she noticed the white bed the Hospital wing stood next to. The sheets were flung back savagely and looked as though someone had lain there not too long ago. Pomfrey seemed to sense her question of his disappearance because she sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
"It seems that Mister Malfoy decided to leave the Hospital wing without my consent. I came in here to check his bandages and give him a potion to steady his breathing when I found him gone, and these left behind." She stated, shaking her head in a worried fashion as she indicated the white bandages. Hermione's brows aligned with confusion. Why would he leave the Infirmary when only being knocked unconscious that late afternoon? The Malfoy ring felt impossibly heavy in her robe pocket. No doubt, the rotten bugger probably felt he would have no dignity staying in the Hospital wing after suffering defeat on the Quiditch field. Honestly! Men just didn't know when to admit that they were beaten.  
  
"I worry about that boy... He needs to be under care. Punctured a lung, that one." Pomfrey huffed, wringing her hands. Hermione could only look down at the ground. She really didn't care about Malfoy and his well being, but she felt bad for the medi-witch. Obviously he had slipped through her grasp. Now what was she to do with the tacky ring? Draco was out there, stubborn, and with an injured lung. It was his fault. He took it upon himself to leave the care of the Hospital where he could have been healed properly. But no, there was really no sense at all trying to argue with boys like that. It was like asking her to not study for the N.E.W.T.S and throw a party in the common room. Simply absurd!  
  
It was then that Madam Pomfrey looked at her as if in a different light. A quiet feeling of dread prickled in the back of Hermione's neck as she realized somehow what she was about to be asked to do. Oh please no, she whispered in her mind. Not me, not now.  
  
"Oh, Miss Granger, would you please be a dear and see if you can fetch the boy? With his condition, he could not have gotten very far."  
  
Hermione stared at Madam Pomfrey for a moment in silence, trying desperately to hide the disbelief on her face. She? She go out there and help Malfoy? Her conscious was beyond itself in hysterics, but never would she actually laugh at a suggestion by one of the staff there at Hogwarts. Cinnamon eyes stared blankly at the medi-witch for a moment. A cold shudder traveled down her spine as the seriousness of the request fell down upon her. She was actually supposed to go hunt down Draco because he himself had been to proud to stay put and receive care? It was a wonder how she was dragged into things like this.  
  
"Um... Alright, Madam Pomfrey... I will go get Mister Malfoy..." Hermione said, her voice slightly shaking. How were she, Hermione Granger, and lowly mudblood to Draco Malfoy actually supposed to just go out there and bring him back to the infirmary? It was like asking Lord Voldemort to stop attempting murder on Harry and stop trying to get world domination. The prefect quietly snorted to herself upon the mental image of what Harry and Ron's expression would be if Pomfrey asked them that particular request. Like Malfoy would actually accept help from her, she thought to herself with scorn. Stubborn as a mule, that one. It seemed that Pomfrey was happy enough that she wouldn't have to go on a wild good chase searching for the injured Slytherin.  
  
"Thank you very much, Miss Granger." She beamed, clasping her hands together. Hermione had to fight the twitch of her mouth. Nodding her head, she slowly turned away and began walking out of the Infirmary. All she had wanted was to return the hideous ring to that overbearing, conniving bastard. It seemed Hogwarts had different plans for her. Maybe if she was lucky, she would find Malfoy already unconscious before having to suffer his verbal abuse. But then again, she was not the one with a punctured lung. Yes, that could be used as an advantage. She could already hear it now. Draco Malfoy, pureblood extraordinaire, had to rely on Hogwarts smartest witch of the age... Hermione Granger. Fighting down the satisfied chuckle deep within her belly, the bushy-haired Gryffindor paraded out of the Infirmary, her head held erect and a distinct bounce in her step.  
  
****  
  
Hermione had been walking for a short time, her robes silently billowing out near her feet. Moonlight filtered in through the windows and spilled in ethereal pools about on the floor. Patches of twilight stained her bushy brown hair, her cinnamon eyes glittering in the darkness. Phantoms seemed to glide across the walls like dementors, moving in long, cold strides. She had yet to find the Slytherin. So far, there had been no sign of that distinct silver blond hair. Annoyance flared to life. She was in no mood to be lead on a chase to find a boy that she loathed. She could have been upstairs, back at Gryffindor tower, her nose buried in a book. But then, she wouldn't have been able to study anyway. That ring wouldn't let her.  
  
"If I was a Malfoy, where would I be?" She whispered to herself. Hermione snorted to herself as she asked that question. No doubt he was off, swaggering about ridiculously as if he were an emperor of his own empire. That special walk he had, nay, she could never call that absurd strut of his special. Well, he was probably strutting down the corridors, being stubborn as a mule and trying to find someone's life to make a living hell. Draco Malfoy reminded her of a dementor. They fed off the hopeless and sorrowful emotions that came forth from a person. He seemed to live for it. He swallowed it in his wake. The serpent of his house no doubt liked to feed off the reaction he got out of the people he daunted.  
  
What was she to do when or if she found him? She knew for a fact that he would make her job as difficult as he could possibly make it. Just for his own pleasure. Hermione's eyes darkened on the thought. He wouldn't accept her help. It was the truth; anyone with half a brain could of knew that. Even Crabbe and Goyle knew that, and let's face it; they hardly had quarter of a brain. She could imagine it now. He would laugh in her face when telling him that she was to make sure he returns to the hospital wing. He would laugh with that trademark, annoying little smirk of his. That smirk she would love to smack right off his face like in her third year.  
  
Hermione turned a corner, her eyes searching. Where on earth was he? Madam Pomfrey said he had not gotten far. He could not have already made it down to the dungeons? Uttering a growl of frustration at wanting to return to Gryffindor tower, she quickened her pace. If worse comes to worse, she would have to return to the Infirmary without Malfoy. Well, that wouldn't be too bad, she thought to herself impishly. Turning another corner of the maze-like school, Hermione suddenly let out a loud scream. Toppling over a large bulky form, the prefect lay sprawled across the floor, her hair in a pool on the stone floor. Hermione lay there for a moment, but shot up into a sitting position when she heard a loud strangled groan comes from next to her. Looking at a dark form that lay on the floor, her brown eyes widened.  
  
Draco Malfoy lay sprawled across the floor, his arms clutched to his chest. He was in the slow process of rolling onto his back, his eyes squeezed shut. A small trickle of sweat ran down the side of his pale temple and down his neck. His black robes were a deep contrast to the bleak color of his frozen skin. He was letting out wheezing breaths that made her considerably nervous. She must have tripped over him in haste of running down the hall. Picking herself off the floor, she looked down at him. The dragon lay there for a moment, only silence except for the sound of his labored breathing. His eyes slowly opened, icy grey universes staring into nothing. It took only a moment for his eyes to lock with hers. If she did not know better she could have sworn that she saw a flicker of fire bloom awake in the orbs.  
  
"Malfoy?" Asked Hermione. Draco looked back at her and then slowly sat up, grimacing in the process. She could tell he was in pain. A lot of pain. His face was almost expressionless but it was the way he stiffly moved that told her of his injury. The hand clutching at his chest went stiff and then he forced it back down at his side. His eyes narrowed into fine little slits and his lips turned a deathly white. The boy of Slytherin looked like he wanted to kill her like a wolf on a sheep. Hermione unconsciously took a step back as he got onto all fours, his head bent down in between his arms, seemingly being swallowed alive in his black robes. With what sounded like a forced inhale of breath, he got to his feet, shaking off the tremors. The prefect of Gryffindor felt her eyebrows knit together as he raised his head to look at her. He did it in an impossibly slow, menacing way, his lips in a snarl, and his eyes like cold fire. Fear crept up her spine like cold realization. This was a mistake.  
  
"Just what do you think your doing, Granger? You nearly throttled me just now!" Draco snapped, glaring do deeply that his jaw ached. It took only a moment for her soft eyes to harden and her lips to purse. Bastard, she said to herself. Even though the boy was fit to faint any moment, his wit and anger never seemed to have been tainted.  
  
"I was sent to find and return you to the Hospital wing. Now come along, I don't have all night you know." Hermione said in one whole breath. She was about to turn and lead him away had it not been from the sudden, harsh laughter that filled the corridor. Whipping around, her lips parted upon the sight of Draco leaning against the wall, laughing almost manically. There was something about that dry, brutal, mirthless laugh that sent cold shivers through her body. Shivers that she did not at all like. He stopped his laughter after a few moments, his eyes stripping her of the Gryffindor courage. Hermione noticed he was breathing in a rather harsh matter. If he kept going on like that, he would no doubt faint. It reminded her distinctly of a soldier about to die at the hands of his enemy but not before laughing in their face.  
  
"Me? Take orders from you? Don't make me laugh, Granger! I am not going anywhere with you. The fact alone that you even brought it up was amusing." He snarled, staring her down. Sighing in an exasperated way, she took a step toward him. This was exactly what she knew was to happen. It was pretty much outlandish that a pureblood like Malfoy would accept help from her. Oh how she wanted to slap him now.  
  
"Did you really think that I am helping you on my own accord? Madam Pomfrey sent me to find you, because being the rotten moron you are, I'm stuck here now trying to do the utterly impossible." She complained with her hands on her hips. Draco arched an eyebrow, his hands groping the wall he leaned against. She had the distinct fear that everything was about to turn very difficult. His steely eyes then looked thoughtful.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Granger. It seems I left my sympathy lying around somewhere back in my dormitory. Perhaps if you came back in a month or two, I might have it back by then. But I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you." Draco said all of this with such honeyed sarcasm that she would have been able to hunch over and vomit violently. She was also quite surprised that he had been able to say all of this with his current breathing difficulty. But he didn't stop there. He sucked in another forced, terrible breath and spoke again.  
  
"And do you really thing I give a damn about Madam Pomfrey? Move along, Granger, you're crowding me. I don't feel like wasting my time on a shrubbery head like you." He countered without a beat. Hermione grunted in frustration under her breath. Oh, just ditch him, said a voice in her head. You can't be bothered to try helping spoiled little brats like him. Then a lighter voice spoke up from the darkness. But what about Madam Pomfrey? She was counting on you to bring that 'spoiled little brat' back to her. These two voices argued back to each other, Hermione's eyes glazing over. The pros and cons. Oh how she hated when the voices in the back of her mind brought up pros and cons. Once they start, they never stop. Heavy exasperation threaded like a spider web throughout her haze of thoughts. It was, however, quickly laced with an outline of anger.  
  
"Don't argue with me, Malfoy! If you want to know, I really don't like wasting my time on you either. Perhaps if you're obnoxious fat head hasn't been too busy insulting Harry, Ron and me, then you wouldn't be in this little predicament." She countered.  
  
Draco stared at her for another moment, his eyes twinkling like black diamonds in the moonlit corridor. The shadows moved around them, ever watching. The prince of Slytherin's hair glowed with what seemed like ethereal light. Even from the distance from where she stood, she could very well smell him. Freshly trimmed leather mixed with an odd spicy scent. The spice was rich enough to almost taste it in the air; it was the smell and taste of wealth. The scent of his expensive cologne filled her nostrils with a small buzz that left a strange tickling sensation in her nose. Rubbing furiously at her face, Hermione was startled by his next words.  
  
"You think my head is fat?"  
  
Hermione did all she could to fight the scream bubbling in the pits of her stomach. Yes, he was definitely provoking her. Don't loose your composure, Hermione, her conscious piped up.  
  
"Oh, shut up! Now come on, I'm taking you back to the Infirmary." She almost shouted hotly.  
  
"Well you know what, Granger? I really don't feel like it." He replied, in an almost innocent tone. Didn't feel like it, Hermione echoed in her head. With a horrible crack, she clenched her fists. The prefect suddenly felt like Ron. She could feel that strained feeling that had to be fought not to lash out and attack his smug little face. This is what Ron must be feeling all the time. Maybe she should just stun him and then float him back to the hospital wing. No, it wouldn't do to harm an already injured class mate. Madam Pomfrey would have her head. Well, she knew one thing. She would never beg.  
  
"I'm not asking you to come back to the Infirmary. I am telling you..." She whispered in a dangerously low tone. Draco folded his arms across his chest and arched that annoying eyebrow again. If he doesn't stop with that bloody eyebrow then I'll make it my personal business to rip it off and paste it to his forehead, she thought to herself darkly.  
  
"Oh really? And how do you suppose you're going to do that? I do hope it doesn't involve me being carried over your shoulder." He said, inspecting his rather well manicured nails and brushing off imaginary dust from his expensive robes. Oh yes, he wants you to lash out. His false sense of humor struck odd in her heart. How WAS she to get him back to the Infirmary? It seemed highly dubious. Asking wasn't getting her any where. She couldn't hex him no matter how much she hated him. For once in a long time, she didn't have a single solution to her problem. He seemed to sense this and smirked.  
  
"What's wrong, Mudblood? Can't think of a way to make me listen to you? That's right, because I don't listen to people like you. It's the scum like you that should be kissing my pureblood feet and taking orders." He drawled. Hermione closed the distance between them, raising her hand as if to slap him. He didn't flinch nor turn away. As she stepped into the shadows in front of him, they welcomed her, shedding the moonlight from her robes. Even in the dark she could see him perfectly. She could see the type of person he was. Beautiful on the outside, ugly on the inside. A look of distain suddenly passed onto his face. He turned his head away from her look and looked almost disgusted.  
  
"Mind stepping away from me, Granger? Now, while I know that my exotic good looks are hard to resist, I usually only let worthy people get close enough to appreciate them. Consider yourself lucky... Very lucky..." He said, smirking so broadly that she had to gag.  
  
"Don't hold your breath, Malfoy. Have you always been so conceited? Does it just come naturally or do you really have to work at it?" Hermione snapped, crossing her arms. Things were running on strings now. He smirked almost wolfishly at her question and then answered quite cheekily.  
  
"No, everything I do comes quite naturally. I sometimes even amaze myself with my true brilliance." He said, running a hand through his soft, silver blond hair. He then threw a disgruntled smirk at her bushy, uncontrolled hair.  
  
"You're disgusting..." Hermione spat, her eyes narrowed. This was getting her absolutely nowhere. The possibility of just hexing him and then bringing the stubborn mule to the hospital wing was sounding very good just about then. Stepping away from him and back into the light of the window, she pondered. What to do, what to do? Meanwhile Draco who was standing against the wall, let out a heavy breath, willing himself to breathe. He had no doubt done a good job not showing his discomfort to the mudblood, but how long could he keep up the charade with her standing there. His lungs felt as though they were being held between two crushing stones. Where was the air, why couldn't he breathe?  
  
"Go on, Granger," Draco began, his fingers digging into the fabric of his robes to ignore the welling pain in his chest.  
  
"I'm sick of having your boring, little face breathing in all the good air. Its bad enough you have to pollute everything with your dirty germs just by existing. Be a good little Gryffindor and go back to your Potty and Weasel." The Malfoy suggested with a dismissive wave of his hand.  
  
Hermione turned to him again, her lips forming a thin line. For a second, she had to fight against the tears starting in her eyes but Harry's voice rung in her head. He was telling her to be strong and to not let Malfoy have the pleasure of hurting her. It was knowing that he wounded her that gave him power. Malfoy was utterly powerless when receiving no desired reaction from his victim. Well, she would not give him what he wanted. Then Ron was telling her something. 'Throw the wit right back in the face of that git!' He would say, always marveling at the rhyme of the sentence. Thinking about her friends almost brought the smile to her face. They could not protect her now. She would handle this alone, and her way. Unconsciously, her nimble fingers went into the inside of her robes.  
  
"Well, Malfoy, if you're not going to listen to me then I should say that force is necessary." With that, Hermione pulled her wand out and aimed it between his eyes. His grey eyes focused on it for a moment with an expressionless face. A rush of something ran through her in waves. Harry and Ron would be proud. Silence filled the dark corridors. Draco could not even hear the sound of his labored, worsening breathing. The only thing that he could be fully aware of was her eyes watching him, daring him. She then spoke, her soft voice like honey. She was tired and not in a good mood, it seemed.  
  
"What I would do to have someone take a picture of this, Malfoy," She began, her wand never moving an inch. "Me, Hermione Granger, Mudblood of Gryffindor and prefect of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry aiming my wand at Draco Malfoy, pureblood extraordinaire... I wonder what your precious Slytherins would think if they saw you like this? A Malfoy receiving help from a mudblood... Oh, the horror..." She said, sarcasm dripping from her words. Fire splintered before Draco's stony eyes, making him want to reach over and grab a fistful of her curly hair. She was playing his game and for a moment, it surprised him. Not often did someone play the game of wit with him. It was being thrown right back at him. The wand held between his eyes did not budge. Hmm... How was he to get himself out of this one? The pain inside of his chest was slowly becoming worse. The dizziness swelling in his head was getting stronger. But who was he to rely on someone. Never would he do it. Hatred sizzled within him. Stupid, girl, he whispered. Hardly had Hermione ever used sarcasm against him.  
  
"Get moving, Malfoy." Hermione barked, grabbing his arm and yanking him quite unceremoniously forward. Draco grabbed onto the wall and glared witheringly at her. She seemed to not take any heed of it and then poked him in the back with the tip of her wand. With so much reluctance that he felt undeniable dirty, he started in the direction of the Infirmary. Grinding his teeth together, he thought about a way to escape. He could feel her wand on him and that she would use it if forced. Well, that's determination.  
  
"You do realize that you will pay for this in the end, right? I never let anyone get away with something like this." He snarled, trying to look at her in the corner of his eyes. She increased the pressure of her wand in his back and hissed back.  
  
"Keep walking!" Yes, Harry and Ron would be proud, Hermione chided to herself again, a smile playing across her lips in the darkness.  
  
****  
  
She will pay... I will get her... I will kill her.  
  
These thoughts ran almost wildly through Draco Malfoy's mind as he stumbled slowly through the dark corridors, that annoying prickle of wood continuously poking him in the back. They had been walking in silence for almost ten minutes and only Hermione seemed to notice that Draco's pace of walking was starting to slow down. But still she forced him in the direction of the hospital wing in haste so she could return to her friends. Spending the night helping Malfoy was the last thing she possibly wanted. That's when a growl shattered the cloud of thoughts hovering above her heads. Looking closely, she could see the ill attempt Draco was making at hiding his pain. Stubborn Bastard, she muttered under her breath.  
  
"You must feel pretty damn good to have your way, Granger." Draco said suddenly, a sneer in his voice. Without a beat, Hermione answered.  
  
"That's right."  
  
"I mean, it's not everyday that a disgusting, overbearing mudblood like yourself gets to have power over a Malfoy." He continued, smirking deeply to himself. This time she didn't answer for a while. Then quite suddenly, her voice came out of the darkness.  
  
"Don't you ever get tired of calling me a mudblood? It's quite old..." She said, in a haughty, bossy kind of way. The prince of Slytherin squeezed his eyes shut as another spasm of pain filled his being and he couldn't breathe for a moment. But then he answered.  
  
"No, I never tire of calling you what you truly are. You are what you are, after all. A silt-blooded, worthless, despicable form of low existence that should shrivel back under the rock they were born under."  
  
Hermione was completely silent for a moment. Malfoy knew he had hurt her. Sweet glee filled the desolate caves of his heart. Yes, you know what you are. The truth does hurt. What he would do to turn around to see if she was crying. To know that he can cause tears to someone like her was his trophy, his glorious victory. Someday in the near future, he would be looking down at the others like her. They would be under his command, his control. They would be shackled and dirty like the dirty, soil blood they had. Then all would bow. They would kiss his feet, his robes. And then, they would die. His victorious face would be the last thing their eyes lay upon until they were rid from the wizarding world like all the muggles. His father taught him how to feel like this. Lucius Malfoy had taught him to relish in the death of whom they hated. Now it felt it as natural as every day life was.  
  
"Malfoy, I asked why you never tire of calling me a mudblood, I never asked you to give me a detailed description of yourself." She snapped, quite casually. Draco felt his smirk disappear on his lips and replaced with a snarl. Just do it. You're alone aren't you? No one would even find out if you hexed her a good few times, said a voice in his head. Hell, you should just kill her and then you wouldn't have to deal with her ever again. Yes, the idea of disposing Granger was indeed tempting. But he knew deep down he wouldn't get away from it. That old fool, Dumbledore, would know it was me. That old bat has a strange way of knowing things and secrets.  
  
They lapsed again into silence, Hermione pondering to herself quietly while Draco walked, indulged into euphoric fantasies of screamed killing curses and dead, bushy-haired prefects. The thoughts soon dispersed and pain racked his brain. Quickly, he cupped a hand over his mouth to steady his breathing. He was choking, he couldn't breathe. Malfoy hoped that Granger couldn't hear him. The last thing he needed was for her to know that he was suffering. Shame weighed heavily upon his hunched shoulders. Surely Father would be disgraced if he knew that you were not ignoring the pain. Hell, he would be disgraced that he was feeling pain in the first place. The constriction around his torso steadily got worse as he continued walking. His long legs felt distinctly like rubber and he could feel those dots of sweat forming on his brow. No, he could not start being weak again. He had enough weakness in one day.  
  
"Do you want to stop, Malfoy?" Came her voice. Draco stiffened, forgetting for a moment that she was there. Yes, he wanted to stop but he couldn't. He had come too far to start showing her defeat now. Not bothering to answer her in case of only emitting a strangled whisper, he continued walking. He couldn't be too much farther from the hospital wing, right? He had come to the conclusion that he wanted to be healed of his injury. But he would never let her know. To Granger, he was still fighting it all.  
  
"You were thick to leave the hospital wing, you know." Hermione whispered in the darkness. Draco only managed a snort and the roll of his eyes.  
  
"Who did you think you were fooling anyway? But yes, I suppose that a Malfoy couldn't bear being kept in the Infirmary. You lot are too proud." She said not without scorn. Draco snarled and turned to glare witheringly at her over his shoulder. The bushy-haired witch only managed a smirk. Yes, she was the one provoking the anger out of him now. She was still playing his game. The girl was throwing it back in his game still. Meanwhile, Hermione kept her wand still in between his shoulder blades while her other hand fished around in her robe pocket. The ring seemed to indignantly remind her of its presence. She stared down at it for a moment and then her eyes traveled up to the silver blond boy. In the light of the moon she could see the small beads of sweat falling down the side of his temple.  
  
"I found this earlier by the way. I was going to give it back to you when I went to the Hospital earlier, only to find you not there. That's why I'm stuck in this dirty business with you in the first place."  
  
Stopping, she came around the front of him and held out the ring. Watching with dread as his eyes widened, she let out a gasp as he suddenly grabbed her arm fiercely. All signs of injury seemed to be diminished in a single moment. His eyes were drilling into her face, his pupils dilated with rage. Hermione's wand fell to the floor with a soft clatter and she nearly cried out with the intensity of his smoldering stare. It was not often that she was this close to see just how pure his hate for her ran through him. His fingers were nearly tearing through the fabric of her robes, his hand tightening around her arm in a vice grip. Fighting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, all Hermione could do was tremble violently, her lips parted. He was looking down at her, his teeth grit, his stony eyes so retched, yet so astonishing. Like universes separated from spaces. Unaware of how long they continued to gaze at each other, it was Malfoy who hissed like a snake.  
  
"You dare touch what is mine? You dare steal my family ring with your putrid, sordid fingers?" He hissed, his face close to hers. Hermione only tried to snatch her arm away but was unsuccessful. His nails deepened into her arm, rooting her feet to the floor. He would no doubt tear her arm off if she did not answer.  
  
"I only found it, Malfoy. Let go of me, you're hurting my arm." She murmured, narrowing her eyes angrily. No one should dare touching her in such a way. Draco's free hand came up and gripped violently at her fingers until the ring came loose. His hand was like ice stabbing into her skin. Hermione stumbled as he finally pushed her away. Rubbing her throbbing arm, she watched in dismay as he rubbed furiously at the gold with the hem of his robes as if cleaning dirt from the intricate piece of jewelry. Bastard, she told him mentally. His lips were pursed tightly and his brows were aligned.  
  
"You have one hell of a nerve to touch my ring, Granger. It is not made to be handled by filthy-fingered scum." He growled, sliding the ring onto his middle finger carefully as well as elegantly. Hermione bit on her lip to hold back the glare but it quickly vanished and was replaced with a smirk.  
  
"If it makes you feel any worse to know, I had also let Ginny hold it." Hermione replied, her hands on her hips. Watching with glee as his mouth turned up in an expression of disgust, she grabbed her wand from the floor and pointed haughtily in the direction of the Infirmary. That's right, go on, the motion said. For a moment he looked like a grumpy child who was just told to take a bath after rolling in the mud. In a swirl of black cloak, he turned his nose up and stumbled past her, clutching his ringed finger to his chest as if it were precious. Hiding the snort of laughter as he attempted to swagger defiantly, she could only keep her eyes firmly on his robed back.  
  
"I reckon that must have been the best bloody moment of the Weasley's life to ever have touched something of such value. The poor sod probably cried herself more tears then she could afford. It's not everyday that a Weasel gets to touch something that's no doubt worth more then what her lousy father will make for the rest of his life working for the ministry. " He hissed to Hermione with a sneer before cackling under his breath. The Gryffindor prefect knew she was seeing fire. Never had someone insulted the Weasley family like this. The last war would be early if the red head family ever heard what he had just said.  
  
"The Weasley's are worth more then your own sad pathetic life, Malfoy. All you have to show for it is a tacky little piece of costume jewelry, and an obnoxious attitude that weighs more then Crabbe and Goyle combined. Honestly, your life has about the same importance to me as a piece of gum on the bottom of my shoe." Hermione countered, poking him harshly between the shoulder blades. An uncomfortable silence reined on for another five minutes.  
  
His attempt of a swagger soon let out and his back hunched again within minutes. The aftermath of his anger took all the breath out of him as he stared down at his sought for ring. Well, he had wondered what happened to it. Now he knew. She had it. She had been handling it. It was her small fingers that touched it and held it. How grotesque. It was the mudblood that had the honor of touching what was something for those with pureblood. It was people like her that should never even be able to get within distance of it. The large M winked back at him as he stared down upon it. His ring. His family ring. And she had it. Of all the people to return it to him, it had to be her. Then to top it off, a Weasley had touched it! A Weasley, who never in their sad existence could ever come close to affording a ring like it, had touched it.  
  
The pain in his chest was now unbearable as Draco searched almost desperately within for his next breath. He couldn't feel his legs. Was he still standing? How could anyone remain standing when there was nothing but cold numbness? The next thing he knew, he felt cold stone beneath his back. Did he fall to the floor, he wasn't sure. But he had to get up. There was that voice again, in the back of his head. It told him not to fall asleep. Just block out that voice, just rest a little bit, another voice tempted, with desire running from its milky voice. Then a face swam in his blurry vision. Not bothering to lift his chin to see who it was, he let his eyes drift shut. How could he stay awake when it felt like he was sinking to the bottom of Hogwarts Lake, farther and farther from the needed oxygen? He was sinking away from life itself. At least, that's how it felt. Feeling no will to stop his slow falling into unconsciousness, he let his chin nod down on his chest. But a sudden jerk in his shoulder caused him to open his eyes slightly. There it was. That face. He could make out a pair of dark eyes and a large amount of hair. Bushy hair perhaps? There was someone tilting his face up, a warm hand holding his chin tightly. Who was it? Why wouldn't they let him go to sleep? Didn't they see that he wanted to be let alone? Who ever it was would pay at his wrath once he wakes up. That is, if he could ever wake up again.  
  
"Malfoy!? Malfoy?" A voice echoed. Grunting softy, he felt himself pulled forward. He must have been leaning deeply against the wall or if he was on the ground, he couldn't quite remember. A powerful hand was gripping his arm tightly but through the blurriness of his usually good vision, he could not see who it was. All Draco knew was that he wanted to sleep. Good and long at it. Anything to take away the pain that filled the very essence of his being. Even resting on the floor of Hogwarts corridors was tempting. He couldn't care less about dirtying his expensive robes now. As long as he could rest.  
  
"We are almost at the Infirmary..." That voice said. Feeling slightly lifted, he could tell that someone pulled his arm around small framed shoulders. That's when it struck the prince of Slytherin. Granger! Granger had been with him! Granger had been the last person next to him before he felt that ever desired sleep start to over power him. But the person supporting him through the darkness couldn't be Granger. Never would he allow a mudblood to touch him. Never would he allow a mudblood to help him. Who ever it was, it couldn't be that bookworm prat of a Gryffindor. He wouldn't allow it, not ever! Eyes rolling from the back of his head, he focused on his next breath. Now that this mystery person was 'helping' him along the way, it was a tad easier to breathe. Grateful for the long inhale, it subsided some of the dizziness in his head. That's when he was met with the sight of a bush. Well it was technically not a bush, but more or so, hair like a bush. Brown bushy hair. There was only one person with brown bushy hair.  
  
"Granger?! Let go of me now, you filthy ingrate! I don't want to be contaminated!" He exclaimed, urging the strength to pull his arm free from her grasp. Gross, he thought. The poor excuse of a witch was actually touching him. The only response he got for her quite surprised him, because she did do what he asked. She let him go and he fell in a rather ungraceful heap with a loud "oomph!" on the floor. Draco rolled over with a groan, clutching his chest. The sudden shock of the cold floor beneath him sent an unpleasant jolt through his back. Hermione towered above him, hands on her hips, such an expression of victory on her face. Well, at least she listened to him. She gave him an almost smug look before inclining her head at the door in front of them.  
  
It was the Hospital wing. Hermione looked so happy to have finally gotten him there that she knocked quite cheerfully on the grand double doors. Within seconds, the door slammed open and Madam Pomfrey gave a startled cry of surprise to see Draco lying on the floor at her feet. Immediately she was kneeled down next to him, pulling him from his sad state on the floor. Like an animal caught in a neck, the hunter had found him. So much for escaping to the Slytherin common room. He had been caught! And Granger had helped her.  
  
"Oh, Miss Granger! Thank you! You found my escaped patient. Now, Mr. Malfoy, I shall not need to remind that what you did was very wrong and very foolish!" She scolded to a sweating Draco who was half bent over the medi-witches arm. Hermione watched in silence, nodding her head to Pomfrey in welcome. Pomfrey turned away, pulling the silver-haired boy along with her. He was breathing harshly, and it sounded like compressed rage. The type of rage that an animal had when caged in a small prison. The last thing she saw before the doors closed was The Slytherin seeker's face turned toward her. His eyes were so fierce, swarming with fire. His fine mouth was curled down in a vicious snarl, the type of snarl that a werewolf has when changing on the full moon. His cheeks were an almost embarrassed or perhaps rage red that tinted sharply with his pale features. Those eyes... The silver eyes that were clouded with such malice and hate were set on her... Turning back to the dark corridor, she could not help but sense that Draco Malfoys eyes were still set on the Infirmary door, hating the person behind it...  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A/N: I hope u liked that chapter. Im going to post the next chapter soon but it will be very short, but sweet... muahahahahaha 


	5. Serpent Sortia

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters from the fabulous J.K. Rowling *bows to JK*  
  
Anyway heres the next chapter! Thanks for all the reviews!!!! You people rock!!!! I would like to give thanks to sweet-77-thang, strick, Christina aka all those other names hhahahaha, my sister, and rose of fantasy.  
  
This chapter is gonna be short, I warned. But sweet... and evil... MUHAHAHAH!!  
  
I also give a warning to the content of this chapter. This chapter is dark and probably considered R for violence. Just warning.)  
  
Bloody hell! I also apologize for the last few chapters. I have just been aware that I spelled the word Quidditch wrong. I have been spelling it 'Quiditch' sorry bout that folks! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
(A/N: Listen to O fortuna while you read this scene. It gives it a kick()  
  
A small form stood there in the darkness, her cloaks billowing out in the howling wind. Cinnamon curls framed her face, brushing along feminine cheek bones. Her eyes were such a brown, rich and filled with a whirlwind of different feelings, emotions. But out of all of them, only one certain emotion flared like an ethereal torch in her eyes. Fear... Brisk, cold fear. The type of fear that was so thick that you could smell it in the air, perhaps even taste it. Fear mixed with a sense of foreboding, her senses blurred with the trickling of sweat running down the side of her moist temple. Her very limbs were immobile, screaming with protest. She could not move for the dark figure not too far away was hunting her. Hunting her like the bitter prey she was to him. He wanted her, like a snake on a rat. He was the snake, the serpent. His forked tongue probably could sense her.  
  
The sky was black, phantoms gliding like soul-sought dementors across the ground. But there was nothing here in this wasteland of nothing. Darkness eclipsed the light. The only light that remained was burning like sweet dancing fire in the pair of nearing eyes out of the shadows. Silence took her breath away; the only sound was of echoing footsteps in the dismal distance. He was coming, coming for her. Coming to take her out and put her to an end. And, he would succeed... Silver emerged. Silver like moonlight. The type of silver that caught your eye like a bug in a spider web. His hair made her blink. She became fully aware that he was close. For whom none other then him had silver hair?  
  
He was coming closer, striding in long, flapping swirls of dark black cloak. He towered over her like a ghost, his eyes piercing into hers, stripping her, raping her soul. He was taking what was his. He was taking her, her life. The exotic fire of his eyes smoldered over her very body almost hungrily, his seemingly forked serpent tongue dancing across the bottom of his blinding white teeth. He could feel the bristling of fear sparking like flames inside of her. He closed his heavy silver-laded eyes for a moment, basking in that feel, feeding off the fear of him from her. It tasted so good, like stolen innocence. There was something strictly forbidden about her, almost illegal. But it was his, she was his. His own... His prey belonged to him. Stepping closer, his head slightly tilted down to look at her. Ah, she was a figure of helplessness.  
  
Cinnamon eyes collided with Pale stone orbs. Brown with silver. Lion and Serpent...  
  
The stone-eyed figure felt himself hiss in appreciation as he looked down upon her. He watched as her throat trembled in a gulp. The smell of sweat lingered from her shivering form from where she stood. The wind tore like knives at the frail dress that rippled like a dark flag across her body. The brown curls drifted silently across her panic-stricken face as she watched him, waiting, fearing. Her chest heaved with erratic breaths as her lips were parted ever so slightly. Lastly, her feet were positioned much like her facial expression. Confused, waiting to spring into action. But that did not matter. She would not get far. He would find her. No one could hide from him, not for long. She would be his. And when she was, he would make sure she knew it. Taking a deep, elegant step forward, he watched for a response. The man received one as she stepped back almost immediately.  
  
"Go on, run... But where there is a corner, I will be there. Where there are shadows, I will be there..." He whispered, his almost sweet voice running like liquid fire through her veins. He could feel the effect of his words on her. She shuddered unconsciously and continued to take small steps in the opposite direction. Not once did his eyes leave her. She was his to look upon. Ever slowly, he took one step toward her. Then another. Then another. The girl started to stumble away frantically until she had turned away from him and started to run. Yes run, he mentally told her. A long, mirthless chuckle escaped his pale lips as he gazed. He wanted to chase her. He wanted to hunt her down. She was that miniscule snitch, waiting to be grabbed in his long, slender fingers. Dissolving into dark nothingness, he followed his prey.  
  
She was running, not knowing where she was going. But people being hunted usually acted like that. People who knew they would be caught by the claws of their hunters usually ran into nothingness, if not, only to stall the awaiting doom. The bitter smell of fate hovered in the air, filling her flaring nostrils. Somewhere close, the man could feel each pump of her frantic heart in his being, thumping and pounding. Oh the glee he would have when counting off the last beats. Or perhaps feeling the last pumps. The last pump of blood to the very organ that gave life. The life that he would take for his own. In the deafening silence, he could hear her hyperventilating. It echoed harshly and he unconsciously perked his keen ears to hear its distinct sound. Ah, the sound of panic. So succulent, so delightful...  
  
Feeling the need to have her fear beneath his aching fingertips, he slowly transfigured from his shadowy form and back into the very persona of malevolence. Much to his liking, he surfaced right in her path. With a scream she ran right into him. Before one could know what was truly happening, his spidery hand closed around her arm. His pale fingers wrapped tightly around her flesh, digging, feeling. Sick dread radiated from her very body, and he devoured it into his own like a flower would do with the sunlight. The phantom of a man could feel a vein under one of his fingertips and he prodded it. He could almost feel the blood flowing within her. The blood that would spill to the ground like rain. Blood that no doubt would be rich and crimson like the color of the house of the lion. She whimpered under his hand, making ill attempts to wrench herself away from him. Her wild abandoned curls flew in a frenzy around her now pale face, her eyes wide. The girl's warm, fast breaths sizzled across his ice- like skin. She was burning him. Forbidden innocence was burning cold evil.  
  
"Look at me, Granger..." He whispered. She went completely still; her body limp like a rag doll. But her chocolate brown eyes squeezed themselves shut in defiance. Always a fighter that one was. Not for long, of course. Defiance didn't get the victims anywhere but a closer death. The fingers around her arm slowly started to squeeze tighter and tighter until a sound of pain escaped her. Grinning maniacally, his fingers continued to close tighter and tighter, the color in her arm slowly fading. The vein was constricted beneath the skin, one of his fingers continuing to prod the desperate, sobbing vein. Finally, her eyes jerked open and she was trying to pull her pained arm free. But still he squeezed harder until the skin beneath his fingers began to purple. Each one of his sinister fingertips were branded like sweltering scars into her skin. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her faint sobs cheered him on. His free hand shot forward, entwining themselves into her hair. She gave a great yell as he lured her eyes to lock with his.  
  
"Do you want me to stop, Granger?" He asked softly. She nodded, continuing to pull her swollen arm from his vice grip. The fingers he had in her hair tightened, and she cried out again. Catching her eyes with his, his silver orbs plunged into her sweet soul, taking what he wanted, stealing what he wanted. The girl's sobs began to echo in his ears and he would have laughed with the euphoric sound. Each one of her fingers began to swell with a raging purple, the loss of blood causing them to silently scream with desperation. But he would not give them what they wanted, not until he got what he wanted. Using the hand in her hair, he tilted her head slightly so that he could look deep into her horror filled eyes. Such beautiful horror...  
  
"If you want me to stop, then you will have to beg..." He purred, his orbs piercing her like knives. She made an almost indignant noise in the back of her throat which caused him to laugh despite himself. To escape his raping gaze, she squeezed her eyes shut again. Didn't want to beg, did she? Well, he was the one that most certainly would not be begging. Oh how he loved using that delightful force into submission. An almost thoughtful expression played across his face as his fingers continued to tighten, his other hand starting to pull at the bouncy curls of her hair. Smirking as he could practically feel the strands of hair ripping out of her scalp, he closed his eyes lazily, her scream of pain ringing out through the shadowed lands. The sound of his prey was delicious! Then quite suddenly, her fingers were clawing at his dark cloak.  
  
"Please! Please! I beg you! Please stop!" She cried. Grinning so darkly that he could have been able to petrify Voldemort, he began to laugh. The clouds darkened as his laughter threaded around them. Her sobs hitched up into her throat, fear trembling in her breath. His laughter was like having the killing curse flung at her. It ripped through her very soul, freezing and tightening like a serpent around her heart. Very slowly, his fingers began to loosen around her arm until she was able to break free. She cried out as the rush of blood flowed back into her limp arm and ran over her in a bleak sensation. Claw-like prints weaved around her arm in purple patches like scathing tattoos. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes as she held her arm protectively to her chest. He had let her go but the pain in her eyes was so strong...  
  
"I love it when people like you beg. So melodious and precious," He murmured, almost to himself. Without thinking twice, Hermione stepped away from the silver-haired monster and made a move to run. But before she could fathom, shadows were grabbing her, pinning her arms behind her back and long, slender, dark arms weaved around her waist tightly. The shadows seemingly ravaged over her body, clawing and molesting. They grabbed and pulled like fast, dexterous fingers. Falling back against a hard, lithe form, she began to sob fearfully. His voice was next to ear, his ice lips whispering in smooth parsel-tongue. The stretches of bruises on her arm screamed hollowly as her bound arm remained tight behind her back. There was no escaping, no end to this madness. Death was her only open door, her only path and road. This monster was the very key to that not so long gateway into death.  
  
"Resistance is useless and quite futile..." He whispered into her ear, the smell of her hair filling his bleak senses. She even had that smell that was uncorrupted. For a split moment, that unnerved him. How could this creature retain such innocence? An angel wrapped in Lucifer's embrace. But that quickly disappeared as his silver-slit eyes closed. A small scaly head immerged from the sleeves of his shadowy cloak and slithered around the circumference of his long, slender arm. The snake hissed softly, its forked tongue flickered in the air, tasting the foul odor that wavered. Uncoiling itself from its master and lead on by the whimper of helplessness from the female, it slithered around her waist, its body constricting like a belt. She trembled as the serpent squeezed its smooth, silky form around the skin of her arm, its tongue glowing with poison. Its hood flared ominously around its distinct features and there was something very foreboding about this snake. Its eyes were silver. Silver like the full moon. Silver like his hair... Revelation flooded through her sickly. He was feeding off her through the snake. Squeezing her eyes shut, trying to ignore everything, she stood there locked in his long arms.  
  
It was almost like an embrace had her arms not been forcibly held behind her. Each sinfully beautiful scale of the snake seemed to be branded into her skin, absorbing her energy, her will. That will that had always made this bushy-haired female a Gryffindor. Then at the thought of the Gryffindor, a loud roar shook the very sky of the darkness. The man's arms tightened around his victim as the roar grew louder, ferocious and proud. The roar ended with a violent growl. Emerging from the shadows in a haze of white light, a lion stretched across the sky. It's large, lithe body flew like a threstal, its gold coat shimmering in the darkness like a torch. The gorgeous beast's mane rippled brilliantly as a wave of wind tore through each golden spun strand. Its long willowy tail snapped in fierceness, as its powerfully clawed paws hit the ground. Lastly, large slanted brown eyes glowered back at him. The shadow of a man bared his viper like teeth, his own nails digging into the soft flesh of his embraced victim. She whimpered which caused the lion to roar furiously. Ah, so Gryffindor was willing to fight? Well, Slytherin would rein on. Victory would be his. The serpent that was coiled around the girl's body slowly started to uncoil and fall elegantly to the ground. The creature wagged its forked tongue at the feline almost mockingly.  
  
With a threatening hiss the snake slithered menacingly near the great Feline. The Lion crouched down on its two front paws like a cat would do on a mouse. Silver eyes clashed with dark brown. With a nod of his head, the serpent sprang forward. Like rope, it wrapped its smooth body around the nearest furry paw. Gryffindor growled, slamming its constricted paw to the ground as if crushing some irksome, bothersome insect. Meanwhile, the bushy- haired girl nearly forgot about the captor holding her in his arms as she watched the battle. The silver-eyed captor watched on as well, his lips playing a smug expression. He would win. Salazar would beat Godric.  
  
The lion howled, continuously beating its paw until the snake came loose and soared through the air. It landed smoothly upon the ground but did not move. Approaching it cautiously, Gryffindor snarled. Slytherin was defeated already? Surely it could not be. The victim within the grasp of the silver eyed captor watched with growing hope. This nightmare had to be on the verge of destruction. The great feline towered over the slinky form of the serpent for a moment and then let out a victorious roar. Godric Gryffindor seemed to crow brashly into the endless tunnels of darkness, fire spouting from its victory like a dragon.  
  
The brown eyed beauty almost cried out in delight as she turned to give her captor a retorting expression. But it died on her lips as she registered the euphoric features twitching across the contours of his face. Before she could blink, the supposed dead Snake sprung from the ground and clasped around Gryffindor's neck. A scream echoed hollowly from her throat as she watched her defender fall to the ground in a paralyzing shock. He roared, thrashing his great head about, claws ripping at the collar like snake. He stamped his clawed paws furiously upon the ground.  
  
Pulses of complete and utter blindness bloomed awake beneath her skin and swam through her now frozen blood. Eyes glassy, her head arched to the sky, Hermione Granger could only hear the fury-filled roars of the great lion. The snake's body continued to constrict, tightening, suffocating. The rich, golden sun strands of feline hair began to wilt like a dying flower and turn white. The snapping, willowy tail with his fiery plume began to shrivel and bend. Claws receded and seemed to disintegrate before all eyes watching into crumbles of lost fierceness.  
  
The silver eyed dragon watched on in satisfaction. In the end, Godric did wither away before the feet of Salazar. His fingers flexed along the waist of his victim, and he could feel her tremble in fear as she watched her last hope diminish like a passing wind, a forgotten memory. Had he existed at all? Were there really any chances to escape this inevitable fate what so ever? Would evil forever hold the banners of victory over their holding, stone fortresses? Continuing to watch the lion fall prey to death, the hooded snake continued to never let go. Its scaled tail rattled in the face of his defeated adversary, hissing in appreciation as the blood continued to slow its movement toward the heart. A long time had already past when it had last fought back. Gryffindor's once great paws curled up in agony, his hind legs bucking and twitching as if having a seizure. Brown eyes were wide, the chill of fatality creeping into its dark depths. The bushy-haired girl cried out, trying to go help her defender but could not. The man tightened his grip on her, forcing her to watch the helpless creature die. Again, he drank in the waves of horror radiating from her shivering form, protesting form. Foam spilled out through the corners of the lion's growling mouth, trailing down his furry chin. The serpent flared its hood in satisfaction, flashing viper teeth with a massive hiss.  
  
"Finish the beast off!" The man suddenly hollered to his snake in parseltongue. Hermione found that she perfectly understand his words and began to scream, attempting to wrestle her body out of his arms. She had to help the great feline. She had to stop Slytherin from winning.  
  
"Let me go!" She screamed, her fingers prying at his vice arms. He let a chuckle escape his throat as she struggled within his grasp. The figure of innocence wanted to go and save her helpless kitten of a lion. How novel and dulcet, he thought to himself with ominously tainted glee. The hand he had snaked around her waist and held her to him tightened. But still, she continued to pull away. Watching with a sneer, they stood transfixed as Gryffindor fell in a crumpled heap on the ground. The reds and gold's from his mane turned a dull white and grey and his whiskers crumpled under his large head. The serpent of Slytherin finally uncoiled from around its suffocated neck and slithered across the ground elegantly. The silver eyed man leaned down, his lips brushing against the ear of the sobbing girl in his arms. In a thin, liquid fire tone, he whispered.  
  
"Gryffindor is dead..."  
  
As he whispered this, his snake slithered up his leg and back into the folds of his robes. His face nuzzled into her neck, the scent of her filled his nostrils. The smell of femininity and blood. Blood he wanted to taste so badly. Crimson blood that would no doubt be rich and luxurious to fill the caves of his mouth. Opening his lips, his perfect row of white teeth began to change. Against his forked tongue, he now grew viperous teeth. The serpent teeth dripped with venom. The poison he would fill her very veins with. Grasping her tightly, he sunk his fangs into her flesh. She gave a startled and shocked cry of pain. She began to choke on the words of protest that came up in her throat. But they died away before escaping. His victim's fingers began to twitch, flailing in the air wildly, but still he held her, red blood filling his mouth. Blood mixed with poison, clashed, formed as one. The silver-eyed man's heavily lidded eyes drifted shut, his tongue lapping against her skin as the sweet crimson met with his lips. His mouth ravaged, took what was hers, and stole what was hers. The very illegal, forbiddances of this one girl began to be drained from her heart, her soul. Shadows filled her glazed over, horror filled eyes as this monster seemed to give her the dementors kiss.  
  
As the peak of his pleasures took over him, his grip around her waist loosened. Almost at once she stumbled out of his grip and away from him. She fell to the ground, gasping for breath while a trickle of poisoned blood ran down the side of her neck. He looked down at her, blood running down from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. His eyes were wide, filled with greed and desire as he continued to molest her with his gaze. It was time. Time to finish his deed. He needed to kill. He needed to kill her and now. Tilting his head, his malicious grin dark, he drew his wand. The killing curse was on the tip of his tongue, wanting to be breathed into the desolate night.  
  
Hermione Granger's eyes traveled to the wand suddenly pointed at her and let out a strangled choke. One hand was on her neck where he had so viciously plunged his serpentine fangs and drank at her blood like a hunting vampire. As he began to draw closer, she stumbled back. Sweat poured down her face, her body, as protests for him to stop were issued from her trembling lips. But still he drew closer, his form becoming a phantom and angel of death. Begging for mercy, she continued to crawl back with her eyes focused on him. He was growing taller and taller, darker and darker. His eyes became universes of fatality and shadow, evil and death. His grin so vicious and corrupted bloomed like fire as Lucifer took his mighty form. His cloak became licking flames around his scaly, skeletal body as he became the sky, became the world. She could not escape him. He was everything. He was the universe. Everywhere she looked, it was him. Him and his wand. Him pointing his wand at her. Bringing her arms up to her face, she gave an echoing scream as Green light was manifested with two baneful words. Hermione Granger's scream became a broken whistle in the wind as her body exploded in a snowfall of ash and flame. Bones and flesh filled his senses, his tongue smelling dead blood...  
  
******  
  
Draco Malfoy shot up in bed, with a strangled gasp. Breathing heavily, sweaty dotting his brow, he looked around. His eyes were wide, haunted with what he had just dreamed.  
  
And then, Draco Malfoy slowly started to smirk...  
  
******  
  
Lights in Gryffindor Tower flicked awake as a female, blood curdled scream rang through the heart and souls of sleeping wizarding students.  
  
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A/N: Well, that's this chapter! I told you it was short. I reckon this chapter was not nearly as good as I thought it would turn out considering that it was hard to write and I wanted to post it already. Hope u liked it anyway! R&R!!! 


	6. Color War

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything the fabulous characters from J.k rowlings Harry Potter. My friend Christina has confirmed that she has already seen the copyright branded on harry potters ass when attempting to mark him as he personal property *cough*_

Hehehehhehee I had hoped people liked my last chapter muhahahahaha

Attention readers!! Uh… if there are any out there… uh yea, anyway, I have posted a small fic called laurus concilio mortis. It's a 2 chapter fic about the night Sirius found the potters dead. I have yet to post the conclusion in chapter 2. So be a dear and after reading this chapter, go and read that fic.

_Oooooo__, it seems I have discovered the glorious world of italics and formatting muhahahahaha!_

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Hermione Granger's body arched to the ceiling, her head thrown back into her pillow as her blood-curdled scream rang through Gryffindor Tower. Mouth flung open, her blanched lips cracked as the terror coated cry wavered like a bell clashing with one another. Brown eyes flew open, her pupils dilating wildly as a bleak blanket of shadow fell across her body. Lights bloomed on, and the prefect became aware that she was in her red, Gryffindor bedroom. She was in no inescapable wasteland. Loud, strangled chokes of air mixed with sobs issued hectically from her throat, sweat pouring in endless beads down her temple. Chills ran down and over Hermione's spine and made her heaving body continue to rack with violent shivers like a frail leaf in the howling wind. Where was he? Where was that monster with the silver eyes? Where was the green light? Looking down to make sure she had not exploded into a rainfall of flesh and ash, Hermione curled up. Why was she not a mound of death and decay? An endless harmony of drums seemed to be beating painfully from within her forehead. Her form felt like it was in a state of complete and utter paralysis. 

"Hermione?! Hermione are you alright?" A frantic voice whispered next to her. Whipping her head around so fast that her curls stuck to her sweaty forehead, she turned to see Parvati and Lavender at her bedside, their eyes wide in fear. They were clutching each others hands tightly; as if afraid she would attack any moment. Unable to utter a response, she curled tighter to herself, sobs racking her body. There seemed to be no air to breathe in the claustrophobic curtains draped around her bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, an image of green light once more blinded her very being, washing over her in a frozen cold cloak. She had taught herself to be brave… but how was one to be brave after seeing such things? Opening her eyes wide, an expression of an animal being caged in an inescapable prison attached itself across her features. Whispers of parsel-tongue breathed like a murmuring ghost against her ear, causing a whimper to come from her throat. A moment later, the dormitory door banged open and two familiar figures ran in, wands drawn.

"Hermione?..." Harry whispered, his green eyes lit like lanterns in the dim light. Ron stood beside him, looking for the danger like an auror readying to face a herd of death eaters. Lavender and Parvati rushed out from the room in there dressing gowns over their pajamas, intent on getting McGonagall in a hurry. A small crowd of students had gathered around the door of the room, identical looks of fright and curiosity mingled on their features. They whispered to one another, wondering what was going on.

"_Harry…Ron…"_ She whimpered, her hands pulling at her hair, unable to breathe.

The sound of desperate cries filled the two boy's ears and they were at their friend's side in an instant. Hermione flung herself at the closest boy which was Harry and latched her arms around his torso tightly. Ron sat on the edge of the bed, a hand clenched protectively around her trembling shoulders. The boy who lived looked lost as he gazed down at the bushy haired girl who was sobbing painfully into his chest. He was not an expert on girls, needless to say. Especially girls who were crying. Cho Chang was a perfect example. Meanwhile, Hermione's body constricted like a writhing animal, seemingly crying so hard that it hurt. Ron looked very scared, gulping while sandwiching the girl between him and Harry as to assure her that they were not going anywhere. The two boys rocked her as they would do with a small child, not knowing what else to do and what was going on with her. But it helped, as her sobs quieted down to dry, choked whimpers and sniffles. Harry looked over Hermione's head at the group of whispering housemates and with a point of his finger, told them to leave. The only person that remained standing silently at the door was Ginny. Her older brother waved her in. The red head had her arms hugged around herself.

"Hermione, what happened?" Ron asked, attempting to peel his friend off of Harry. She finally lifted her head, rubbing a shaking hand furiously over her red, puffy eyes. She gave another few sniffles, tightening her lips together for a moment. Hermione's cheeks were a bright red and her eyes were bloodshot. How was she to explain to them what she saw? How could she explain what it was like to be raped by shadows, held by a serpent, and having to watch in horror as your only hope was diminished like a dying flame? The Gryffindor could not possibly tell them that Draco Malfoy haunted her dreams and did the things he did to her in the nightmare. Shame slithered across her skin and burned softly. Idly, she touched the spot on Harry's shirt where a patch of the fabric was wet from her tears. Averting her eyes, she then mumbled softly.

"Sorry….. I had a nightmare….." She murmured; regret tinting on the edge of her soft voice. A flood of relief buzzed in the air over Harry and Ron's heads, the both of them glad that she was not harmed. Not harmed on the outside anyway. But question hovered like a cloud amongst their thoughts. What could the girl have dreamed of that caused her to awake their entire house? Could it have been that horrible? Her scream had been the very exponent of an Incubus and trepidation. It echoed with such a fear that it was forever branded into the minds and hearts of the ones who heard it. She could not possibly have them apprehend what she had just seen, well maybe Harry since he was not taking his Occulemency lessons. But then again, who would spend over an hour in professor Snapes Company while he barks orders at you. 

"Want to talk about it?" Harry mumbled gently, his eyes troubled from behind his round spectacles. Hermione stared at the boy who lived for a moment in silence, and then looked over at Ron who was watching her quietly. Oh how she wanted to tell them. They told each other everything… But she couldn't, not this time. The words had locked themselves deep down in her throat. As she gazed back at Harry, who was still waiting for an explanation, she could see the years of life in his eyes. This startled her greatly. Though he was a young seventeen year old boy on the outside, if you took the time to really know him and look into his eyes, you could see all the years of hardship, loss and heavy burdens storming in his amazing green orbs. He was a young man aging too fast. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she inwardly shook her head. No, she could not tell them, especially not Harry. He had enough burdens weighing down on his shoulders. He needn't another thing to pull him down further. Besides, she _was being rather foolish, wasn't she? What was a silly dream about some Slytherin wanker that she loathed so important anyway? Yes, she was being overrated about this. _

"No, it's alright, Harry. I'll be fine…" She assured. Ron looked skeptical when she said this. He obviously didn't believe her for one minute. How could she fool a boy who had a sister that had suffered at the hands of Voldemort at only age eleven? How could he not know what it was like to wake up in the dead of the night and to hear your beloved sister screaming bloody murder in her dreams? Something had haunted his best friend's sleep that night and he would find out about it. Meanwhile, Harry seemed to contemplate her answer to talk about the nightmare. _Sounded quite like him, didn't she?_ A person who was unwilling to share what was so obviously bothering them until it ate away at their insides like a worm would do to an apple. 

At that precise moment, the door banged open again and professor McGonagall stalked in, her night cap hanging off the side of her tightly bound bun. She held a candle in her hand, her eyes hard on all three students. Standing timidly at the door was a frightened Parvati and Lavender. They were whispering fervently in each others ears'; probably exchanging different versions of what they thought was going on. Gossip would run like news on the daily prophet throughout school by morning. Harry and Ron climbed off her bed, their hands still comfortingly on her shoulders. Ginny remained silent near the other side of the room, not sure if she should get involved. The red head Gryffindor wrung her hands nervously. 

"Ms. Granger, can you tell me what is going on? I shall like to know why two of my students awoke me in the middle of the night to tell me that you were screaming like "a frightened, squawking banshee being murdered" as Ms. Brown and Ms. Patil alleged." The transfiguration teacher said slowly, raising the candle to look carefully at each face in the room. Even though her lips were pursed and white tight, there was concern in her eyes. Hermione crawled off her bed as well, unconsciously straightening up and clearing her hoarse throat. _Ugh, just like those two to make a fuss and go whine to a teacher about me being a ninny, Hermione thought to herself irritably. There was no way she wanted a teacher involved into something that needed no involvement. _

"I'm sorry for the rather over _exaggerated_ statement that Lavender and Parvati disturbed you with, professor McGonagall." Hermione ratified. Her two dorm mates glared infuriatingly at the back of her head, grumbling under their breaths. Hermione, however, ignored them and attempted to believe that she could not have possibly screamed in such a perturbing manner. After all, Parvati and Lavender were over dramatic at times. Her thoughts momentarily strayed to a time a few years back when Lavender nearly had a heart attack when she had found a strand of grey among her blond locks. The girl had fallen into a dead faint, Parvati sobbing on her friend's shoulder about the tragic discovery. 

"Are you quite sure, Ms. Granger?... Perhaps prefect duties and the burdens of N.E.W.T's are troubling you,-!" The professor began.

"No! I mean, of course not, Professor. Everything is just fine… I think I may have just stayed up too long completing my homework and it unsettled my sleep. It's nothing, really…" Hermione reassured, waving her hands with emphasis. She did not mean to come out quite so hard, but she couldn't help it. Her mind felt fuzzy and weighed down with the occurrence of the nightmare. Draco Malfoy's smirking face still floated menacingly in her mind. McGonagall looked dubious over the prefects rushed answer, arching a high eyebrow. But still, she gave a nod of comprehending. With a curt nod in the boy's direction, she left the room rigidly. Letting out a held in breath when their transfiguration professor disappeared out of sight, Hermione raked her fingers through the bush that was her hair. She noted with annoyance that it would take over an hour to brush out all the tangles out in the morning. Lavender and Parvati had already gotten back into bed, whispering to each other still. Ron and Harry were still standing awkwardly at the foot of her bed, watching her carefully.

"Listen, we know that you didn't want to tell McGonagall about your nightmare, but we have the right to know." Ron piped up from the silence finally. Hermione momentarily closed her eyes, knowing that this would come. But, no, she would not tell them. She just couldn't. Not yet, anyway. Turning back to face them, her legs feeling uncannily like lead, she spoke quietly.

"It's nothing, Ron, it's nothing… I'm just going to go back to sleep. You two should as well." She admonished, making a move to sit on her bed. Harry nodded quietly, knowing that they shouldn't bother her if she did not want to talk about it. Often been in situations like that since turning fifteen two years back, he knew what it was like to be scared of telling one what they saw. Especially if it was horrible. However, Ron's feet remained firmly planted next to her bed. Ginny walked out from her cloak of darkness and came to stand next to Harry. They exchanged furtive glances for a moment. Her brother always was a bit on the thick side when it came to things like this. 

"Hermione, I want to know what's going on with you. You can't just tell us to sod off after screaming like a bloody banshee and then bawling your eyes out," Ron said, his eyebrows drawn together with stubbornness. Hermione felt a flash of annoyance flare to life within her. She didn't need this right now. She had enough in one night already. While she appreciated that they cared to know what was bothering her, she didn't want to talk to them about it. Not Harry and Ron, perhaps Ginny, since she was about the only friend she had who was a girl. Running a hand frustratingly over her drooping eyes, she imagined what she could have said if telling them what she dreamed about. _"Hey, I had a nightmare that Draco Malfoy turned into a slithery Dark Lord, chased me through darkness, held me possessively while I watch my defender, Gryffindor, fall to the Slytherin serpent, have Draco Malfoy whisper in my ear in parseltongue, have him grow snake fangs, plunge them into my bloody neck and then drink my blood while he injected deadly serpent venom into my blood stream! And finally to top the icing on the sodding cake, he performed Avada Kedavra on me to explode into nothing but burning flesh and fluttering ash!" Of course, she didn't say any of this as she continued to stare back at her friends. Ron appeared to still be waiting. If she told him, he would be like a lion on a ferret. Then again, Malfoy was already a ferret. The mental image of her best friend strangling Malfoy until his brains spilled out onto the floor was a rather satisfying image, but she would keep quiet.___

"Ron, I don't want to talk about this right now. Please, I just want to go back to sleep." Hermione whispered, looking down at her toes. Harry shot a pointed look at Ron and he mouthed wordlessly like a fish. Finally running a defeated hand through his tousled red hair, he put a hand on her shoulder. She looked back up at him, a silent plea in her blank eyes. He let out an exasperated breath and finally nodded, patting her awkwardly. Harry breathed in relief, said goodnight to Hermione, and steered a sympathetic Ginny out of the room. Ron was still staring down at her before he pulled her into a quick hug. His bushy haired friend smiled warmly at him, pulling the blankets around her shoulders. Before he could leave, she whispered. 

"Sweet dreams, Ron." She murmured, unconsciously feeling betrayed by her own words. He froze at the doorway and turned around again, a small smile on his face whilst he nodded. He knew nothing of the fact that she would remain awake for the rest of the night, too scared that if she fell asleep, he would get her again. 

"You too, Herm…" 

*****

The next morning dawned a chilly December Friday, and students were already out of bed, getting ready for the last day of lessons before a comforting weekend in front of the fireplaces sipping hot butterbeers, or going outside for snowball fights. The morning came all too slowly for Hermione who was sitting on the edge of her bed, rubbing her sore eyes. She had to perform a number of sobering charms on herself to keep awake during the night. She felt as if she had been drinking coffee all night. A feeling she was disgruntled with. Lavender and Parvati were in the lavatory, fussing around in front of the mirror while applying fresh makeup to their faces. She silently envied them of the peaceful hours of sleep they had no doubt gotten. Getting out of bed with dodgy legs, she threw her Hogwarts uniform on the bed and pulled off her nightgown. Maybe a good breakfast would give her the energy that she had lost over the course of the night. A good breakfast and no sighting of a certain prat by the name of Draco Malfoy would be a good stimulant. Pulling her jumper over her head and slipping on her shoes, she quickly jammed her books into her bag. Everything felt out of sorts to her that morning. At least Christmas holidays were soon and she would have some time to rally herself up again. 

Fastening the buttons on her robes and securing her wand on the inside pocket, she began to pull a brush through her hair. Grimacing at the savage tangles that the bristles met, Hermione grit her teeth. Oh how she hated her hair… After an unsuccessful ten minutes of brushing went by, she decided it was time to meet the boys down for breakfast. There really was no way to tame the beast she called hair. That's when she halted at the door. She had potions today. Double potions. Double potions with the Slytherins. A cold snake of fear slithered up her spine, freezing her blood on its way up. She would have to face _him_… A brief flash of silver hair and venomous fangs came and went before her eyes. Merlin, this day was just going to get better and better. The Slytherin prince would no doubt be sore to her about the night before when she had forced him to the Infirmary. He had sworn to get her. And while she hadn't thought better of it, the dream she had last night gave her second thoughts. Who really knew what Draco Malfoy was capable of anyway? Who knew if he had already joined Voldemorts ranks beside his father or not? 

Telling herself that she was just being a bit barmy that morning, she quickened her pace down the dormitory stairs and found Harry and Ron playing a fast game of exploding snap, waiting for her to come down. They looked up from the burning cards, smiles gracing their features before coming to join her.

"You should be careful with that in here, you know. Dean and Seamus set fire to the curtains last week when they weren't watching their game properly." She scolded, the old, familiar ways of Hermione Granger coming back in a rush. They breathed out an obvious sigh of relief that she was her old self, grabbed their books, and then headed out of the portrait hole. Dismissing their questions if she was indeed alright, Hermione was careful to hide her uneasiness as they leisurely made their way to the great hall. Harry and Ron spoke about Quidditch, she remaining quiet throughout their conversation. Not really a fan of Quidditch, or any other sports for that matter, she let her thoughts engulf her. Would he be in the great hall eating breakfast? Was he good at sensing fear in others? Perhaps, his victims? Was her nightmare last night a premonition of what has not yet come to pass? Maybe if she was lucky, he would still be in the hospital wing under the care of Madam Pomfrey. A bludger to the torso was serious after all…

The trio entered the great hall, owls already swooping in while delivering the morning mail. The teachers sat at their respected tables at the head of the great hall eating their breakfast. Hermione kept sure that her eyes remained away from the Slytherin table as they headed over to their fellow Gryffindors. Ginny was already their, looking troubled. Momentarily distracted, Hermione sat down beside her. Loading things onto her plate, she looked over Ginny's shoulder to see her reading a copy of the _Daily prophet_. Harry and Ron sat across from them, already at work shoveling food down their throats. Snorting with disgust, she turned away and asked.

"Morning, Ginny. What's wrong?" She asked, quietly sipping pumpkin juice. Ginny looked up, being quite surprised. She must have not noticed that they sat down beside her. Heaving a sad sigh, she pointed to the headlines on the newspaper. 

"**_Death hungering servants of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named strike a hard blow to _****_Fermanagh_****_ Country_****_, _****_Northern Ireland_****_!" _**the headliner seemed to scream. Harry's spoon froze in midway to his mouth, his orbs fixating on the headliner flashing at him. Hermione watched in dread as his green eyes hardened, his cheeks blanching. Ron was looking at the paper as well, chewing thoughtfully. Well she was wrong; this day had certainly just gotten worse. Whatever Voldemort had done now, he was making his appearance to the entire wizarding world. The dark lord left his calling card floating ominously in the sky wherever he strike, marking yet another victory of his. Ginny sighed again; inwardly shaking her head, but then began to read the article aloud softly so that only they could hear. 

"_Fear has arisen in the hearts of wizard and witch alike as You-Know-Who was sighted in Fermanagh Country only two nights ago. Witnesses reported that he and a rather large herd of death eaters had been making their way to __Grisinlow__, __Ireland__, a small wizarding community in upper Lough Erne. Killings of both Wizard and Muggle occurred, and ministry officials quote that erasing all non magic folk's memory went quite mad! "There was complete chaos everywhere, and as soon as we pulled our wands to erase their memories, they cracked! They thought we were going to kill them like You-know-who was doing!" Said George Fern, a member of the magical law enforcement. Officials confirm that the dark lord swept through the town, leaving the dark mark and utter carnage on the way. Homes and small villages were destroyed in the process, leaving devastation in all who populate this once sleepy, peaceful town. Current Reports arrived only this morning at Ministry headquarters. The reports confirm that there was a massive break-in at **Burt's Books for the Magical. **_The shop was completely demolished and this has raised a question as to why the darkest wizard of the age broke into the store. Aurors at the scene are at work attempting to unravel the mystery_" Ginny finished before throwing down the paper. _

All four of them sat their in silence. Harry's eyes had become glazed as he unconsciously rubbed his scar from under his locks of untidy, jet-black hair. Ron was spooning food absentmindedly into his open mouth, not really tasting it or noticing that he was spilling half the spoonfuls down the front of his robes. Ginny stared down at the moving photo of the wizarding village Grisinlow in Northern Island. The picture consisted mainly of fire and debris. Lastly, Hermione was biting down so furiously on her bottom lip that she could taste copper. After a few moments silence, Ron snorted.

"What was You-know-who doing in Grisinlow? I don't exactly think that breaking into a bookstore all the way in Northern Ireland was necessary. He could have sent any of scum death eaters to the library in Diagon Alley in disguise if he wanted too. It's like he _wants to get caught by the ministry or something," Said Ron. Harry didn't even blink as his best mate said this, only continued to gaze blankly down at his buttered toast and eggs. Ginny was looking at him worriedly. Hermione, however, grunted after Ron said that. Putting her hands on her hips in a very bossy manner, she raised her eyebrows. That was an expression that was courtesy of Hermione Granger. It was as much her trademark as the scar and glasses was Harry's._

"You don't use your head, do you? Voldemort- _Oh get over it Ron, you have to start using his name to show people that you are not scared of him. Anyway-!" She started again in frustration._

"But I _am_ scared of him!" Ron replied, a light blush turning his ears red. Hermione sighed, fighting down the headache forming in her head. They had agreed to start using Voldemorts name. Well, Harry had already been using it since his first year, but now Ron, Hermione and Ginny had decided to stop being frightened of saying his name. Ron still found that he feared saying it though. 

"As I was saying…" She pressed, throwing an indignant look at Ron who simply grunted into his oatmeal. "Voldemort didn't just go to Grisinlow in Fermanagh to kill and destroy buildings. He was looking for something…" She concluded. Harry finally came back to reality when she said this, and light of apprehension came into Ginny's dark eyes. The boy who lived gave his friend an encouraging expression meaning for her to go on. "Well, the prophet says that he and the death eaters broke into a bookstore right? Burt's books for the magical happens to be one of the biggest wizarding book stores in Britain. What could wizards find in bookstores?" Hermione asked them, wanting her companions to catch on with the point she was attempting to get across. It was not a rhetorical question, and perhaps even Ron could understand it. Harry's eyes turned stony once more, obviously knowing what she was getting at. Ginny was holding her fork so hard that she might have been able to bend it.

  
"Spells… Dad once told me that Burt's books for the magical has every type of magic book, and he means every type of book. Probably even spells in the dark arts…" Concluded Ginny, her eyebrows drawn together with fury. 

"Exactly. Voldemort could have been looking for a new sort of dark magic. He's probably bored himself to death with the unforgivables…" Hermione said meekly, a bitterness edging on her voice. Harry continued to remain disturbingly silent, though he glared harshly at the table. Ron was thinking over the revelation with interest. What could Voldemort want from a book? What dark magic did the dark lord not already know about? Most importantly, if he had found something useful, what would happen? What was He-who-must-not-be-named planning for the wizarding world and Harry Potter? What ever it was, they need to find out what it was. It seemed that the adventure of the year was already planned out for them. What would Dumbledore do? The old headmaster of Hogwarts could not protect all of them forever… There was only so much time that a person like Harry could hide from someone like Voldemort. Hermione felt like she needed to be in the library but she was stumped. She could not possibly try searching about something she had no knowledge about. Ignorance did not settle well in her stomach. With a tightly closed fist, she banged on the table, causing several of the Gryffindors to look at her in bewilderment.

"Ugh! I wish we knew what was going on! Maybe we should go to Dumbledore, Harry. Goodness! Merlin only knows that's the smart thing to do!" She exclaimed, her hair in a wild cloud around her face. Ginny was biting down a grin at Hermione's exasperation on the situation, knowing her ways all too well. The bushy-haired prefect was always the one to first suggest going to Dumbledore about a problem. Everyone knew that the headmaster was a bit of a mad bat, but also a true genius with a heart of gold. A man that seemed to know just about everything there was to know about everything, and how to mediate a conflict. An idol, that wizard was. But as quick as the two girls got excited, Ron threw water on their plans.

"What do you think Dumbledore is going to do about it? Lead us on a crusade out to Ireland to ask ol' Burt if he found any of his books on the dark arts missing from the destruction of his store? Yeah, a fat lot of good that is," Ron drawled with a sneer, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he munched nosily on an apple. Harry who had been silent throughout the whole exchange could not help but snort at his friend's sarcasm. Trust sarcasm to be the only thing that Harry reacts to, Hermione thought to herself dazedly. Lips forming a thin, white line, she turned her gaze to the red head across from her. 

"Don't be stupid, Dumbledore wouldn't do something like that. Not that I wouldn't join him if he decided to…" She countered, her sentence floating off into the air. Ginny and her smirked victoriously at each other, silently agreeing that they were indeed part of Dumbledore's army. Ron was about to reply when the students began to leave the hall in groups toward their classes. The four Gryffindors quickly wolfed down the remains of their breakfast before rushing from the hall to start their daily afternoon of classes. But thoughts of the front page of the _Daily Prophet did not linger far from their minds._

*****

Hermione Granger pushed down the quiet feeling of trepidation in the pit of her stomach as she made her way down to the dungeons for unfortunate double potions. Friday was the one day that she only had to face the Slytherins for one class, and usually she savored this. But never before had she dreaded going to class like how she felt that moment as she stood fearfully in front of the massive door to the cold classroom. Harry and Ron were already in there, the Divination tower being closer in distance to the Potions chamber then her Arithmancy class was. Class was starting in only two minutes and she could not possibly be late because she was afraid of a certain smug bastard in whom Ron referred to as 'the amazing bouncing ferret'. She had been avoiding the reminder in mind that potions would come fast enough and that she would have to see the rotten tosser that invaded her body and soul only last night in her nightmares. 

"Ms. Granger, do you plan to spend the rest of the lesson standing there at my door?" Came a cold voice. Jumping in surprise, Hermione turned to find that Professor Severus Snape was standing a few feet from inside the room, looking at her with a glare. Mentally strangling herself, Hermione bent her head and entered the potions chamber, her cheeks red in embarrassment. The Slytherins were snickering loudly, jeering at her as she passed. Determined to not look at who occupied the first seat in the front of the room, she sat down at her desk. Harry and Ron threw her sympathetic glances as she pulled out her parchment and quill. 

"Five points will be taken away from Gryffindor house for your tardiness, Ms. Granger…" Snape sneered, his lip curling maliciously. The lesson had started only seconds ago, but he did not waste time from taking points away from Slytherin's rival house. Ron coughed something that sounded remarkably like "Slimy git!" as he wrote down his notes. Hermione frowned deeply as she looked at the notes they were taking. Anything to take her attention away from the feel of the very hard, and very vicious eyes that were trained pointedly on her. She knew who's grey eyes they belonged to.  Draco Malfoy remained twurned around in his seat, glaring so openly and so threateningly at Hermione Granger that she could feel the daggers of his unabashed eyes like blades to her chest. Fighting down the shuddering breath from deep within her, she continued scribbling away with her quill. Waiting for him to finally lower his eyes, a swell of panic came to rise in her stomach after ten impossibly long minutes in which he did not stop his loathe created glaring. Hints of agitation swelled in her mind after another five more minutes. Unable to stop herself, she looked up and gave him in which she hoped was the dirtiest look she could sculpt into her face. Unfazed by her expression, his smirking lips curled up into what had to be one of the most frightening, twisted grins that she had ever seen. Its grins like that, that could make a pack of death eaters run for the hills, Hermione thought to herself uncomfortably. Not have seeing the dark lord in person; she could not compare who looked more evil at the moment. She supposed that if Draco grinned like that more often, he could make a pack of children cry just by looking at them.

Tearing her gaze away from Draco's "muhahaha! Look at me, I'm evil" grin, all eyes turned to the door of the classroom as it opened. A small Hufflepuff third year stood there, fear written all over her face. 

"Um, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you, Professor Snape…." She said hurriedly, obviously not wanting to be under the potions masters accusing, cold scrutiny any longer then she needed too. Snape scowled at the girl before turning to his curious students.

"I shall return in a short while, class. If I catch any of you out of your seats, you'll find yourself loosing a hundred points from your house all too soon…"  He threatened, fixating his words mainly on the trio and Gryffindor House. Without another look back, he swept from the dungeons, his black robes swirling. A sigh of relief fell over the students in the potions chamber, silent wars passing between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Hermione placed her quill down, having a sinking feeling that Draco was still staring mercilessly at her. What was one to do when you had a pointy faced bastard staring at you? Meanwhile Harry and Ron were grumpily brooding about Professor Snape.

"Not five _bloody_ minutes into class and he's already taking away points! Honestly! Greasy, that one is… His hair is oily enough to grease a ruddy frying pan with." He quipped, crossing his arms. Hermione choked on laughter at his comment, momentarily distracted from the Slytherin prince watching her. Deciding to ignore him, she fixed her attention on the chatter passing around the room. Seamus Finnigan was currently standing up on his stool, sporting his new enchanted quidditch badge. It was a coat of arms with the lion of Gryffindor roaring ferociously. A winking snitch crowned the emblem and after a moment the badge formed words. It said 'Slytherins are dirty, rotten tarts' Reminded briefly of the badges the Slytherins had made in their fourth year for the triwizard tournament; she could not help but frown. She was a prefect, and she should be breaking this up before Snape came back to take away enough points to land them last for the house cup. 

"Certainly has a lot of house pride, doesn't he?" Harry questioned, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Before she could stand up, a flash of green light flew across the room and hit Seamus's badge. Nearly flying off his stool, Dean Thomas held him steady. All eyes turned to see Draco out of his desk, his wand still pointed. Looking down at the quidditch badge, it was now turned green with the serpent of Slytherin writhing around. Seamus stared at it in terror.

"_Yuck_! Slytherin pride! It burns!!" Seamus screamed in mock falsetto. The Gryffindors laughed jovially, while the opposite house hissed like the brooding snakes they were. Malfoy's smirk only grew wider if that was possible. The laughter stopped short though when the serpent from the badge reared its scaly head, sinking its miniscule fangs into Seamus's robes. He gave a yelp, his fingers immediately coming up to pry it off. The Slytherins were howling with laughter and doubled over as the snake on the badge began to bite at Seamus's chest furiously. Lavender was shrieking, trying without success to rip it off her boyfriend's robes, while attempting not to get bitten. 

"Don't like the color green, Finnigan?" He said odiously. 

Anger flared like a torch inside Hermione as she watched with open mouthed horror. Draco was laughing haughtily along with his house mates, but his eyes were set on her. _Oh, I'll teach you, Malfoy… Without thinking about the consequences, the Gryffindor prefect had her wand out and set a flash of light at the silver haired dragon. Complete and utter silence followed this action as everyone in the classroom glued their eyes on the sight before them._

Draco Malfoy stood frozen, a shaking hand coming up to touch his now red hair. The color of Gryffindor… His lips were parted in terror, his fingers grabbing onto a few locks with panic. It took only a moment for his face to harden into ice though.

Ron, who perhaps hated Malfoy the most, was the first to start snorting uncontrollably. Harry was not long after, before all of Gryffindor was hooting and laughing themselves to tears. Neville had knocked his cauldron clumsily off the desk in a fit of mirth, which only caused the laughter to heighten. Looking ready to kill, Draco pointed his wand straight at a rather smug Hermione. Fear stabbed through her. He wouldn't use an unforgivable would he? Before she could think twice, a flash of green light went into her eyes. She screamed loudly, being reminded of the familiar green light from her nightmare. The scream alone caused the entire room's laughter to immediately cease. The silence, however, did not last long because the Slytherins were now completely beyond themselves, howling in glee. Hermione growled as she looked down at her now green robes. No one, especially not _Malfoycould make a fool out of her and get the last spell! Diminshing all thoughts of admonition and consequence, she directed her wand back at Draco. Within a moment, his robes turned bright red with the words "I heart Gryffindor!" flashing like lights across his chest. Such a horror filled his stony, grey eyes that Ron found himself in pain from laughter while sprawled across his desk. Malfoy shuddered at the words on his robes while twisting his nose in utter disgust._

"You'll pay for that, Mudblood!" He screamed, throwing a ray of green light at her. Uttering a cry of frustration as the words "Slytherin lover" shimmered across her breast, she quickly sent another spell at Malfoy. However, he chose that moment to jump out of the way. The spell hit Crabbe and sent him sailing across the floor like a blimp crashing from the sky. His robes had turned bright red. Covering her surprised mouth with a hand, Hermione had only a moment to duck to the cold, stone floor before the flash of light conjured by Draco's wand flew above her head. It took only a second to know who had been hit because Lavender jumped up from her seat with a scream before running from the dungeons, her arms flailing like a bird attempting to fly. Her usually luscious, blond locks had been turned bright green. Seamus ran out after her before his girlfriend could turn suicidal.

"You thickheaded prat!" Hermione exclaimed, her fists clenched. Harry and Ron were at her side in instant, wands drawn. It only took a few seconds for each student in the room to have their wands out. Gryffindor pointing wands at Slytherin. Slytherin pointing wands at Gryffindor. This was war. War of the houses. This was a color war. It happened in a flash, jets of light exploded at the end of each wand, and the colors red and green were splashed across everything. Each student was covered in patches of green and red, yet still they hexed one another. Vials and potion bottles exploded off of Professor Snape's desk as the red and green spells flew. Screaming echoed off the walls. Malfoy was running through the chamber, using his two goons as human shields as spells flew after him. Pansy Parkinson was waving her wand savagely through angry tears, her face red. Parvati was cowering behind Dean Thomas, who had just hexed Millicent Bullstrodes hair into a red afro.

Hermione pulled Harry and Ron behind a desk for cover, pointing their wands at any chance they got. The blood flooded out of her cheeks as she became aware of the situation. Some prefect she was… The potions classroom was in a chaos and everything and everyone had been turned the colors of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Ron's hair was a mixture of red and green, some stray locks still his trademark Weasley red. Harry's robes were green with the words "I love to hug snakes" flashing across them. Uttering a gasp as Neville crashed into a desk beside them, his robes a mess of colors, she could only watch helplessly as the war raged. Like soldiers in battle, the students dove between rows of desks taking cover as if in a trench. Using their wands like rifles or muskets, they continued to fire spell after spell. Between the sounds of angry and anguished screams and the shattering of glass being hit by missed spells, not a soul noticed the door to the Potions chamber open.

"**_ENOUGH!!!" _**Screamed a voice. Gasps blocked out the screaming and the jets of light flickered out. The War was over. The war was over by Professor Snape. As each pair of guilty eyes settled on the potions master, snorts of suppressed laughter arose. Snape indeed stood there, but he was not quite so frightening anymore. With robes of red and polka dotted green, the image was complete with locks of oily, red and green. He looked like a clown who had just stepped out of the circus. But each student sobered again at the dead glint in their professor's eyes. The devil had awoken from hell…

"I want to know who is responsible for this… Right now…" He whispered with a dangerously calm voice. In the blink of an eye, all fingers pointed at two solitary figures. All Slytherins pointed at Hermione. All Gryffndor's pointed at Draco. Lip curling, Snape slithered across the room, towering over them. Hermione felt panic constrict painfully in her chest. There was no way she could get herself out of a situation like this. It was over, she was done for. She might as well leave right then and there to pack her bags and catch the next train ride home. Oh how could she have been so thick!? How could she have blown away her future as an auror because of stupid Draco Malfoy!? What would she tell her parents?! How could she ever look at Dumbledore again!? Would she ever see Harry and Ron, her best friends, ever again? Feeling as though she would faint there on the floor, she grabbed a desk to support herself.

"Well, Ms. Granger, because of your childish and most unsuitable actions for someone of your Intelligence level, I dare say that this will be the last night you spend in this castle…" He leered, looking down at her over his hooked nose. Harry and Ron took a protective step closer to their female friend, each one pocketing their wands. Snape simply looked malicious as this. 

"Oh, there is nothing you two troublesome Gryffindor's can do now to aid Ms. Granger's case. Unless of course, you shall like to join her on the train back to your families? Go on, Potter, I _insist…"  Harry and Ron remained silent, only stayed close to Hermione who was furiously fighting down the tears welling in her eyes. She would never see Hogwarts again…_

"Oh my goodness!! I demand to know what is going on here at once!" Screamed a tight, disgruntled voice. All whipped around to see Professor McGonagall standing in the doorway, a hand over her heart. She looked positively dangerous at the moment. Hermione felt a surge of hope flare to life inside of her. Their transfiguration teacher would not let her astray in her moment of desperation, would she? While Snape was the kind of person who would no doubt laugh if he saw one of his students fall down a flight of stairs, Minerva McGonagall actually believed in Sympathy.  Feeling someone squeeze her shoulders with comfort, she glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Harry and Ron giving her small smiles. Perhaps she would be able to graduate Hogwarts after all…

"Minerva, Ms. Granger has performed a violation of school rules! You see all this?" He asked, motioning around the classroom and the students. McGongall simply narrowed her dark eyes as she surveyed the mess. "All of it was caused by _her_! Ms. Granger is at fault!" He cried, pointing a shaking finger at her. Before Snape could direct further accusations, Harry stepped forward. At her rescue always.

"Professor McGonagall, it was Malfoy who started it. We swear it." Harry whispered. Ron nodded his head as a chorus of agreement came from the Gryffindor side of the room. The Slytherins hissed in resentment. Draco Malfoy clenched his fists tightly, pasting his most innocent mask of surprise on his face. Cunning indeed… But then who could not recognize that look of mock angelic features? After a few moments of silence, Minerva turned back to Snape.

"I believe that a detention for _both_ Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy is in order. No one will be expelling Ms. Granger, least of all you, Severus…" She said dryly, ignoring the silent look of utter dismay that passed over Draco's face, and the expression of agitation on Snape's greasy features. He was obviously disappointed that one of the golden trio could not be forced to leave the school. Hermione swallowed the lump that had been growing in her throat, closing her eyes in thanks. All she had was a detention. She was saved. McGonagall was her heroine! Risking a glance at Malfoy, she was not at all surprised to see him fixing her with the hardest glare he could summon. Gathering her courage, she gave him her most sweet smile, victory glimmering in her brown eyes. So maybe no one had won the color war, but this was one hell of a victory in Hermione Grangers book. 

"This class is dismissed. Go straight to your common rooms and get yourselves cleaned up," Said McGonagall. Snape opened in mouth in protest, but mouthed silent words like a fish. Turning away, he swept into his office, cursing as he went. Before he could shut his office door, a voice stopped him.

"Oh and Severus?... Red and green really are not your colors…" Professor McGongally replied, wrinkling her nose at his attire and hair. Sniffling disdainfully and with a ruffle of his robes, Snape slammed his door shut. Harry and Ron bit back their grins, making their way to the door. Mischief was something that rarely came out of their transfiguration teacher, if not ever. They were lucky for the occurrence of the emotion. It saved them from further salting their wounds. Hermione stayed there, her feet rooted firmly to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Professor… But, Malfoy, he-!" she began, her voice quivering. 

"Calm yourself, Ms. Granger. I know you did not start this. However, as a prefect, you should have acted more responsibly. That is why it is only fair that you and Mr. Malfoy receive detention." She interrupted with a soft tone that clearly stated that this was the end of the conversation. Still with dazed eyes and a fuzzy mind, Hermione stayed where she was. Though she was happy at the prospect of not being expelled, shame bubbled inside. Before McGonagall could leave the dungeons, she leaned her head back in with a smug smile. A smile that made the old Professor look twenty years younger. It was amazing what a simple smile could do for someone's features.

"Oh and Ms.Granger? I must say that I like what you have done with Severus's classroom. It was much too dull for my liking…"

*****

A/N: Well, that's it! I hope u liked this chapter!!! Im not sure when my next one will be, but please leave me a nice, pretty review. 


	7. Bad Omens

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from jk's fabulous Harry Potter. I think that about does it.

Hey! Thanks to those who reviewed my latest chapter! Keep them coming!

Ok, now about one of the things that is going to happen in this chapter involving charms. I know that it's terribly cliché. As a matter of fact, I hate having to use this terribly cliché plotting but it all fits, okey dokay artichokie? So just bear with me.

Hehehehe this chapter was very much fun to write. Writing about Slytherins is always so much fun!

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The first thing that Draco Malfoy did the Sunday morning he woke up was curse the day. Groaning into his pillow, his usually sleek hair in a mess, the seventeen year old tugged the corners of his sheets over his head. Tomorrow was classes and he would have to face his detention soon enough. _Detention with Granger, oh joy…_He thought sarcastically to himself, his insides blazing. The tart had turned his hair red for Merlin's sake! No one messed with his hair, especially not a shrub head like her. It was her fault that he now would have to spend over a week's detention with that mad bat, McGonagall. She was the one to start hexing. Well that wasn't completely true since he had been the one to curse Seamus's quidditch badge. But hey, Slytherins always had privileges to be evil first without it truly counting. That was a Slytherin motto, proprietary of Draco Malfoy. 

Still believing that his weekend hadn't been long enough for him to brood about the detention, he sat up in bed. Even through the effectiveness of his bed curtains, he could hear Crabbe and Goyle snoring like dragons. They were still sleeping soundly, unaware that their slave driver had awoken. Finally deciding that he would take out some of his anger out on them later, Draco got out of bed and stormed into his closet. As he picked out his clothes, he silently wondered what detention he would have to serve with that bucktoothed beaver Granger. Reorganizing the library? Grading papers? Cleaning Professor Snape's classroom? Whatever it was, he hoped that he wouldn't have to dirty up his robes doing it. That would be very unbecoming indeed.

Slipping on a black turtleneck and some dark trousers, he stalked into the loo. Brushing up his hair, a frown tugged the corners of his lips down. Snape obviously had no intention of giving him a detention that day in the potions chamber. Maybe sending a letter to his father would ratify this messy situation. Then again, what good would that do? McGonagall was headmistress at Hogwarts after all. Inwardly scowling at the bad handling of the school, he would savor the day that Dumbledore was kicked out on his old, mad arse. Once the headmaster was gone and replaced with someone of more superior line, then all that frivolous business with muggle-borns having admittance into Hogwarts would be changed. Only those, select few, with quality would be able to learn the teachings of a true wizard. 

Stepping out of the loo, finally satisfied with his appearance, he leaned against the frame of the door. Taking in a deep breath, he then shouted.

"Crabbe! Goyle! Get up, you ruddy goons!" He barked, his eyebrows high. Crabbe bolted awake with a loud snort, the sudden shout making him roll off the side of his bed and crash onto the floor. Goyle, whose face was down into his pillow, whipped his head up so fast that he banged it on his headboard. Rolling his eyes with exasperation, wondering idly just how much brains cells were left in their brains now, Draco silently wondered why he was doomed with such damn wankers as his only companions. At least he didn't have a red head spint as a sidekick. That was for Potter. But still, he found it hard to believe that Weasley was a pure blood. It was embarrassing, that's what it was! Meanwhile, his two cronies continued to scurry around the room half asleep while getting dressed. Annoyed about waiting for their sorry arse's, Draco strolled out of the dormitory with long strides. The green colors of the Slytherin common room glared into his eyes as he walked down the stairs. Only a few solitary students of his house lingered about, finishing up late homework assignments that had been put to wait until the end of the weekend to do. Before he could walk down to the great hall, a voice from one of the large green couches greeted to him.

"Morning, Draco!" Pansy breathed, fluttering her eyelashes. Fighting down the groan, Draco sported his best smirk as he elegantly sat down next to her. Father always encouraged him to get close to his house girls, especially Pansy. Being a close friend to the family and a pureblood, she was one of those selected as a candidate to become his wife. The idea of being stuck with the pug-nosed girl forever always did make a shudder pass through him. But he was to continue the line of Malfoy as soon as possible. A mandatory duty, it was. But Pansy? He would rather be wed to a blast-ended skrewt. And that was saying a lot. Telling himself not to twitch as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the girl received it enthusiastically. She put a possessive hand on his forearm, her lips curling up into a cat-like grin. 

"Morning, Pansy… How are you this morning?" Draco asked, looking down at her over his pointed nose. She gazed back up at him from under heavily lidded eyes, an unmistakable hint of seduction dancing there. _If she is looking for a bloody shag, then I'm sure as hell not giving it. _He thought to himself. 

"Oh, I'm good now, Draco darling." She replied, flashing a grin at him. Smiling weakly in return, he leaned his head back on the couch, still a bit tired from waking up that morning. A good breakfast would probably fix that, he noted while feeling a growl come from his empty stomach. A good breakfast without the sightings of a certain mudblood Gryffindor. Seeing her would no doubt make him want to wrestle her to the floor, and curse her till she begs for mercy like she had done in that rather delicious dream he had that night in the Infirmary. He had fought down any urges of hexing Granger into the next century, but ever since that Friday in the potions room, he could not hinder his thoughts from returning to those euphoric fantasies of revenge. Maybe that blasted detention would give him a chance to do just that. But then, either way it could end up with him getting suspended or beaten to a messy pulp by Potter and Weasley. Suddenly a hand was waving in his face, breaking his thoughts. Sitting up to see Pansy still staring at him, he blinked tiredly.

"Aw, is poor Draco still tired? Well why don't we go down to the great hall and have a spot of breakfast?" She asked, already pulling him off the couch and toward the portrait hole. Crabbe and Goyle then trotted down the stairs leading up from the dormitories, eagerly rushing forward to meet with them. Flashing his trademark smirk, he nodded.

"Breakfast sounds lovely," He said, the portrait swinging open. The small group of Slytherins who had been in the common room followed after them, joining behind their leader. This was how it always was. Each morning, Draco would lead his housemates down to the great hall, him in his glory at the very front. Pansy would sometimes hang onto his arm like a queen would do to her king, relishing at the attention it would bring her. His housemates were his subjects, his followers, his supporters. The seventh years walked in a small huddle just behind Draco and Pansy, the emblems of the serpent flashing distinctly on their proud chests. Behind the seventh years were the sixth years, followed by the younger years in ranks. Each cunning face bore an expression of smugness, a feature that could only be found in Slytherin. Strutting in their majesty, students of Hogwarts backed away as they passed, identical looks of disgust mingled with awe and fear on their faces. The Snake prince loved it. He and his mates could almost smell the fear rolling from the other houses as they passed. _Let them be scared_, he thought to himself. They should be… 

As soon as Draco first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds, he knew he would be king of Slytherin house. It was inevitable. That fact alone made pleasure slink about in his stomach. Pansy had her hand tight on his forearm, sneering at girls who looked in awe at Draco. How could they not? He moved in long, powerful strides like a black cat, his cloak billowing at his feet. With his platinum blond hair a torch of white among the darkness of surrounding robes, he stood out. Attention was drawn to him like a flower on the sunlight. All heads turned when he passed, and he loved every moment of it. A smirk of superiority drawled across his pleasant features. The group of Slytherins moved as one when they neared the great hall, seemingly with a grace that Snape himself had. It seemed to fit all of them very well, for serpents were the only ones with such a dark, exotic grace. They did not talk, only whispered. They did not run, only strutted. It was a naturalness that was expected of them.

Smirks turned into glares as the group passed by a mass of Gryffindor's turning a corner on their way to the great hall as well. They halted, staring at them with mutual loathing. Yet like snakes they could smell hints of clouded awe that arose. Draco, Pansy and his followers did not stop in their stride even once to exchange words with their rival house. The Gryffindors just stood there, waiting for them to pass, eyes gazing. The prince of Slytherin caught the watchful orbs of three familiar figures, all of whom were unabashedly glaring him down. Ignoring Potter and Weasley, his gaze shifted to the girl standing in between them. She stood there, a big book hugged to her chest, her back slightly hunched. Brown met with grey in a silent communion of unfinished business. Hermione Granger watched him, not daring to blink, to breathe. Such sin danced like flame in his silver eyes that it left her breathless. A hand involuntarily came up to rest upon her chest over her quickly beating heart. Her lips parted in the sense of baffled regard that he could smell on her. All other Gryffindors drifted to the back of his mind as he walked past, his head turning very slowly to look back at her.

Time came to an abrupt halt as they gazed at each other. Draco became very aware of both everything he and she were feeling. No longer feeling Pansy on his arm, he allowed this to continue. Innocence mingled with fierce passion seemed to form an aura around her small, lithe form. The curls of bushy brown hair seemed to lift in an invisible wind, brushing along her face and out into the air, giving her a naturalness he could not place. Sweet forbiddances gave her cheeks a light, almost flustered pink. Like when a chill of winter nipped at her skin. He, Draco Malfoy was that winter chill. Letting his gaze sweep over her once, he would always remember the sight. It was in that moment he could once again feel the true power behind this image of simplicity. This girl with the large book hugged tightly and almost possessively to her chest. Looking over his shoulder at her, he merely raised his eyebrows, his lips turning up in haughty sneer. She chose that moment to tear her gaze away from him and look pointedly to the floor. Ah, victory was his… All figures rematerialized around him, including Potter and Weasley who looked fit to kill him right then and there. He could now feel Pansy holding onto his arm.

Draco twisted back around toward the entrance of the great hall and let a soft chuckle escape his mouth. 

*****

"I am not looking forward to tomorrow at all…" Hermione whispered, looking to Harry and Ron who walked beside her. Ron snorted.

"Of course you're not. Who could ever look forward to more than a week's detention with _Malfoy_?" He replied, pulling the collar of his cloak tighter around his neck. As Christmas came ever closer, the colder it became. Hermione could see Harry shudder at the thought of a detention with the Slytherin seeker. But who could blame him? She knew exactly what would happen. She would serve detention alright, but she would most likely not live long enough to finish it. She could see that Draco was just itching to do something to her, and she had no doubts, whatsoever, that he would do it. He just needed the exact moment to get his revenge. A moment when they were alone together for a long period of time. Over a week's detention sounded like an ideal opportunity for a Slytherin like himself to do exactly that. She just wondered how she would have to suffer, and most importantly, would she make it out alive? 

"Hey, at least Snape isn't the one handling the detention, Hermione." Harry reminded, trying to make light of the mood. But she simply scowled at this. She unconsciously hugged her '_Aristor's__ Advanced Arithmancy' _tighter to her chest, her fingers turning white in anger. It didn't matter if Snape wasn't the one handling her fate. The detention would be horrible enough. With a record like hers, she could scarcely remember the last time she even had a detention. 

"I know, but facing McGonagall is hard enough. She must be so disappointed with me…" She murmured, biting down on her lower lip. Ron threw Harry an exasperated look and mouthed the words 'barking mad' over her head. Obviously catching this, Hermione glared at him. He could only shrug with a sheepish expression. 

"Look, it won't be that bad. Malfoy is the only thing you need to worry about. Besides, if he really does bother you, then report him to McGonagall. I guarantee you that she won't let the bloke get away with anything." Harry comforted, looking sideways at her as they made their way to the great hall. Ron was rubbing his empty stomach, looking clearly eager to tuck in to a nice, warm breakfast. But not even the promise of a hot breakfast on that cold day could heighten her mood. _Stupid Malfoy_, she thought to herself bitterly. He was the one who had been making her life a living hell for the past few days. Bad luck seemed to be oddly attracted to her that particular week. It seemed like an omen of even worse things to come. If that happened, she would not even hesitate when throwing herself off the highest tower of Hogwarts school. 

The weekend had been very hard on her. After the color war on Friday, she had to endure hours of ill attempts at getting the green out of her hair. She had finally found a spell to remove it later that night and taught it to the rest of the seventh year Gryffindor's. Then on Saturday, she had spent the whole day finishing up all extra assignments so that she didn't have to worry about finishing because of detention. The Saturday was spent cooped up in the common room and her dormitory, Harry and Ron helping her by bringing food from the meals she did not bother to go to. That night she also could not get any sleep. Between the fear of having another nightmare, and the brooding about the trouble that she caused, it had been a most exhausting night. Not meaning too, Hermione reached up to rub her eyes tiredly. Harry glanced at her, his eyes troubled. Ron apparently noticed as well and touched her elbow.

"You still are having problems with the nightmares, Herm?" Ron asked quietly. Hermione stopped, startled for a moment. Laughing weakly, she replied.

"As a matter of fact, I didn't get much sleep. I stayed up to all hours of the night finishing my potions essay on the importance of moon pebbles administered with wolfs bane. It was actually quite an interesting-" She began, using one of her hands for emphasis. But Ron caught her shoulder and stopped her in mid sentence. His eyebrows were raised, a bored expression on his features.

"You're avoiding the question, Hermione…" He stated, somewhat dazedly. Inhaling sharply and exhaling slowly, Hermione felt her shoulders hunch. Was it that obvious that she was stressed out? Silently, she cursed Malfoy yet again. This was his entire fault. Unaware of the fact that Harry was steering her to the great hall, her brain feeling way to numb to fathom, she let him. Ron seemed to still be waiting for a reply however. Fighting down the urge to run away and back up to Gryffindor tower and hide under her blankets, she answered finally.

"Well, I was scared of having a nightmare again so I really didn't get the chance to do much sleeping…" She explained, wringing her hands nervously. Students passed by unnoticed to her as she kept her eyes locked down on the floor.  She just did not have the energy to keep lying at the time. Besides, what's the good in keeping secrets from Harry and Ron, her best friends. Ron, who was still holding her arm, slowly tightened his fingers with worry. Hermione froze, her eyes wide as he did this. An image flashed before her, unkept, unfazed. A silver haired dark lord, determined to look in her eyes while his spidery hand held her arm, his fingers tightening around her vein. His fingers grew tighter and tighter, her arm and hand turning an unearthly, raging purple that made her scream in pain. As fast as the image came, it was gone. Wrenching her arm away from Ron, she held it to her chest protectively. She had dropped her book in the process, the sound of its contact with the floor startling a few Gryffindor's who walked with them to the great hall. Rubbing her hand that was starting to ache from remembrance, she looked away. Ron, who looked scared, seemed to be frightened of touching her again. Harry, however, grabbed her shoulder and turned her to him.

"What's wrong? Why are you acting like Ron just hurt you?" He asked, his brows furrowing. Hermione looked up at Harry and then to Ron who had a mask of hurt on his face. Guilt flooded over her. Letting out a sigh, she reached out and took his hand.

"I'm so sorry, Ron. It wasn't you. The way you were holding my arm just reminded me of something that happened in my nightmare. I was a bit lost, sorry…" She whispered. Harry visibly loosened with relief, rubbing a hand through his untidy hair, messing it up even more. Ron nodded, though he still had question in his eyes. He most likely wanted to know who had been the one to be holding her arm in the dream. Picking up her book, the red head handed it to her. The trio smiled comfortingly at each other, then continued to walk down the corridor toward the great hall. Hermione now walked in between Harry and Ron, who had sandwiched her as if giving a form of protection as they treaded. There were a few moments of a silence before Ron spoke again.

"Hey, Hermione, just out of curiosity," He began, walking sideways so that he could look at her. "Did your dream have to do with Malfoy?..." Ron asked, one of his eyebrows raised. Almost tripping over the bottom hem of her robes in surprise at the Slytherins mention, she pretended to be fascinated with the ceiling so that they wouldn't see the flood of color rush to her cheeks. Of course, this tactic didn't work as well as she hoped because she knew both boys were able to read her like a book. Apparently the truth was written all over her face because Ron suddenly scowled and clenched a fist. Harry straightened his shoulders, his lips pursing. Well, it was no secret anymore, not really. The only thing she now kept in the dark was the things Malfoy in fact did to her. Blushing awkwardly, she looked straight ahead.

"Speak of the devil… Literally…" Harry mumbled, stopping them. All the Gryffindors halted on the corner they were turning when a large group of Slytherins floated down the corridor. Hermione's mouth tightened into a straight line as she spotted the familiar flash of silver hair at the head of the massive group. In a sea of black cloaks, he stood out. Of course it was not just his strange hair that made him stand out like a butterfly among caterpillar. It was his way of moving, his power among his house. He always was at the very front of the group. He was the king and prince among his subjects. Pansy was obviously his queen at the moment, her hand possessive on his forearm. Draco's confidant demeanor did not subject his feelings to be having any discomfort at the pug-nosed girl. Meanwhile, the house of the serpent moved as one, in long smooth strides that made her pulse unconsciously quicken. Seemingly they moved in slow motion, crowds of students backing away as they passed, all too much intimidated by these particular folk. The Gryffindors could not help but stop and stare as their arch rivals drew closer. Hermione felt everyone around her vanish as the Slytherins passed. No longer feeling Harry and Ron, the only thing she became aware of was the one, unmistakable boy. He was unquestioningly prominent, and this greatly startled her. 

The Slytherins sneered at all who came into their path, distain mixing with the smirks that lurked on their smug faces. Their cloaks billowed out at their feet as they strutted in an almost twisted unison. They did not even acknowledge the Gryffindors as they passed, almost as if they were good for them. Hugging her Arithmancy book tighter to her chest, she dared not breathe as her eyes met with his. Not once did he falter in his walking like she would no doubt do. His head slowly turned back over his shoulder to look her down, freezing her to the floor. She could not explain the feelings of fear and awe that arose from within her, nor did she want to fathom them. Only aware of him, so could see and feel everything they were experiencing. So pale was his cheeks, that they glowed in the light. His eyes, as grey as the stone floor beneath their feet. Yet they held a sinful flame that made Hermione put a hand over her chest. Her heart was threatening to jump out of her rib cage, it was beating so quickly. The bushy haired prefect could feel her soul almost twitch as he did not turn away. Distantly, she found that she could no longer turn away as well. 

The spell, however, was broken at the look he gave her. Her gaze plummeted to the floor, no longer having the inner strength to. A very much haughty expression of victory bloomed to life on his distinct features, having won their silent battle of the wits. Merely raising his eyebrows as her, he turned away and laughed to himself. He actually laughed at her! All students around her rematerialized as she was brought back to reality.

"Look at them… The whole lot thinks they're better than us…" Ron glared, crossing his arms as he scowled at the back of Malfoy's head. Harry only nodded, the two boys not aware of the turmoil that Hermione was fighting secretly. Her bushy hair seemed to frizzle even more at the hot sparks of anger that threaded through her body. How dare him! Well, she would show him. She would not give that power over her to Malfoy. Come the starting of their detention, she would prove her strength to him. Oh, and she would make sure he remember it too. Before she could stop herself, fowl words escaped her mouth.

"Smug Bastard… I'll show him…" She whispered. Having caught attention of Harry and Ron, they turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"Blimey, Hermione. I thought you of all people didn't approve of bad language…" Ron said, a smirk on his lips. Hermione only turned her nose up in the air, and walked ahead toward the great hall. Harry bit back the grin spreading across his face as he ran to catch up with her. Ron was left standing there, a flabbergasted expression upon his blank features. Inwardly scratching his head in bafflement, he went to follow his two friends.

*****

Hermione scolded Harry and Ron the next morning in the corridors outside their charms classroom. The trio had just been outside, having to cross over the usually green lawns from Herbology to get back into the castle. Problem was, there had been a blizzard the night before and was still snowing outside. It was Monday and to add to her already bad mood, it continued to snow heavily. Harry and Ron were now nosily stamping their feet all along the corridor, attempting to get the snow off their shoes and all over the floor before they entered Charms. Admonishing that getting snow everywhere would result in someone slipping and hurting themselves, her words were only proved true when Neville walked by and his feet flew out from under him. Harry and Ron had managed to catch their house mate before he could crash to the floor and spill his books everywhere.

"Now you see? Neville could have really gotten hurt!" She scolded, hands on her hips. Neville was blushing bright red, telling her that it was alright, but she continued on another fit and stalked into the classroom. The three boys exchanged pointed looks, Ron whispering "She's gone completely mad! All morning she's been like this." He said to Neville, Harry nodding his head. Knowing that her anger was because of the detention she would start later that night, they agreed that it would be best if they didn't bother her. Unless of course they wanted to be at the receiving end of her wand, which no doubt they didn't. Small Professor Flitwick was standing up on his desk, a pleasant smile on his features. Hermione plopped moodily down in her seat and then crossed her arms over her stomach. She had a most gloomy morning and couldn't wait for the day to be over which surprised herself to no end. 

It was then that she blinked and noticed many seats in the classroom were empty. Twisting around in her seat, she noted that all the Gryffindors were there but the Ravenclaw students that they shared Charms class with were not there. Many of her fellow students were glancing around as well, wondering where the rest of the class was. All attention turned toward the professor when he clapped his small hands together for silence.

"Hello, class! I do hope you all had a pleasant weekend," He said. Hermione could not help but snort under her breath when that was said. She quickly covered her mouth in horror though when the professor gave her a smile with a raised, questionable eyebrow. 

"I can tell that you are pondering the disappearance of Ravenclaw house. I am also quite aware of what took place down in the dungeons during your potions class." He said, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Hermione gulped and slid lower in her seat as her house mates threw her smirks of satisfaction. Even after the weekend, all of Gryffindor held her in high esteem about what she did to Malfoy when he hexed Seamus that Friday afternoon. 

"The headmaster has informed me that after that _particular_ show of house rivalry, we deem it important to remedy the situation. So, to improve Hogwarts house unity, let me welcome your new classmates!" Flitwick exclaimed, and with a wave of his wand, the door burst open to reveal a group of students. All of the Gryffindor's eyes went wide in horror as the dark group paraded in, the emblems of the serpent flashing on their chests. Yells and grumbles of indignation erupted, but the Professor merely smiled, instructing the Slytherins to sit down at their new seats. They, like the Gryffindors did not look all too happy to be there, their trademark smirks gone and replaced with angry frowns. The rival houses glared infuriatingly at each other, another silent war passing between exchanged gazes. Hermione put a hand over her eyes, asking what she had done to deserve that fate. As if Potions wasn't bad enough, they now had to deal with the Slytherins in Charms. Oh yes, the day had just gotten worse a whole lot more. Glancing around, she saw that Ron had his face down in his arms to cover the muffled curses coming from his mouth. Harry had an almost pained expression of annoyance on his features, while he unconsciously rubbed his lightening-bolt scar. 

How was house unity supposed to be achieved by these means?... What was Albus Dumbledore thinking?...

"Welcome Slytherin, I do believe these means of house unity will be most viable." Flitwick spoke with welcoming. The statement only made them hiss and seethe in dissatisfactory. Hermione turned her gaze away from them, determined not to look at the certain boy with silver hair that was sitting on other side of the room, looking quite displeased as well. 

"Now, let us get started, shall we? Today as the Gryffindor's know, I was to explain the task project. The task project will be mandatory and imperative for your final grade. Very important, this task will be." All attention perked at his words. Momentarily forgetting about the hate that bordered between Gryffindor and Slytherin, all students gave their undivided diligence. Professor Flitwick summoned a book from one of his bookcases and then jumped off his desk to walk between desks and talk aloud.

"Your task, students, will be to create a charm, a spell," Seeing the apparent expressions of astonishment on his student's faces, he continued. "You are to create a spell that you believe would be a help to the wizarding world. Under special Ministry orders, these spells will remain unregistered. So, once graduating Hogwarts, the spells would be unusable and disarmed. This task is merely a test to prove your own strength in both magic and charms." He explained. A loud groan came from Neville, who looked miserable. Harry, another person whose strengths did not lie in charms shared the disappointment. Hermione, however, was nearly bursting at the schemes with excitement. Imagine! She could create her own spell! A spell that could really help wizard kind, even though the spells would be unfeasible after the task was over. Fantasies of getting her own special spell approved by the Ministry of magic and written down in spell books floated to her mind. With her chin propped up by her hand, a happy sigh whispered from her lips.

"Now, creating a spell will take weeks after weeks of hard training with charm structuring, specific outlines and procedures. Since this task is very difficult indeed, you will be working with partners. I will choose them for you." At this new revelation, the excitement drained from Hermione and was replaced by a sinking feeling of dread. Partners?! This was something that she wanted to work on alone, if not, then Ron or Harry. But now that the Ravenclaws were replaced with the Slytherins, what if she was partnered up with one of them? What if she had to work with Millicent Bullstrode? Or Pansy Parkinson? Or worse of all, what of she had to work with Malfoy?... Shuddering at the thought, Hermione folded her hands tightly in her lap and waited for the professor to speak again.

"I believe in fairness so I will deposit a charms exam to you that will prove your ability on the subject. Then, breaking up the grades by groups of rank, other words, I will be making a group out of the best scoring grades and so on and so on…" He explained, every student hanging on his words.

"Writing down the names of each student, I will place them in those hats over there, according to your grades on the exam. Then, students will be limited to choosing a partner so that each one of you will be working with someone of the same charms level." Pointing to a row of wizarding hats sitting on his desk, with a flick of his wand, they began to bounce up and down. Complete silence ran through the room, each person wondering who they were doomed to be partnered up with. Hermione could not help but turn around in her seat to exchange worried glances with Harry and Ron. It was obvious that she would not be working with them. She was no doubt on the highest level of charms, with their grades being only average. Whoever she would be partnered with, she just hoped that it was with another Gryffindor. Waiting as Professor Flitwick floated sheets of parchment to everyone; her hand went to pick up her quill. Her eyes ran briefly over the exam sitting in front of her. This was the test that would place her fate in the project. The level in how she did on the test would place her with those who shared the same grades. 

"Begin the exam…… now!" He squeaked, turning over his large hourglass.

Hermione did not waste any time. Her quill was already writing furiously across her parchment, her brows furrowed with concentration. The sound of scratching quills around the classroom matched her own. Excitement began to bubble in her stomach once more. Question after Question, she knew them all. It was only a few minutes later that she slammed her quill down on the desk with a silent exclamation of triumph. Professor Flitwick looked up from the hour glass to see her sitting there done and beamed at her. 

"Well done, Ms. Granger," He whispered with a smile on his old features. Hermione bit down on the satisfied smile curling on her lips and nodded her head with thanks. But the smile suddenly turned down in a frown when the professor looked across the room and grinned as well before whispering "You as well, Mr. Malfoy…" Hermione's eyes narrowed as she looked across the classroom of testing students to see Draco leaning back in his seat, arms crossed smugly. The worst part was that he was staring at her, a Cheshire cat smirk on his virile features. 'Ha! You're not the only one who knows their charms well, mudblood' his expression said to her. His expensive eagle quill was sitting elegantly atop a finished exam. He must have finished only a few seconds after she did. She scowled openly at him, causing him to sneer odiously. They did this for another few moments, Hermione not backing down. She would not look away from him this time. 

It was a whole while later and a whole lot of glaring passed before Flitwick told students to put their quills down. Summoning all parchment into a pile, he cast a spell that would automatically start grading each exam. The students watched anxiously as each parchment separated into a different pile in front of each hat. After a few minutes, all the exams were graded and separated. Flitwick went to each pile and quietly began scrawling names on tiny strips of paper, and then dropping them into a hat. This process seemed to take a whole lot longer then it really was as Hermione continuously clenched her fists closed. 

"When I call your name, you will stand in front of the hat which matches your charms level. Hat number one with be for fourth level charms. Hat number two will be for third level charms, third hat for second level, and the fourth hat will be for one level charms. One level charms is the most intelligent rank and then so on and so on. If placed in fourth level charms do not be discouraged or attain the belief that you are inadequate in charms. Now, to begin…. Pansy Parkinson! Hat three!" He called. Pansy got up from her seat, wagging her hips as she went. She arched a suggestive eyebrow as she went past Draco's desk. He only smiled gleefully at her, hiding the disgust behind his eyes. After she was standing in back of Hat three, Flitwick continued.

"Dean Thomas! Hat two!" 

"Blaise Zabini! Hat two!"

"Seamus Finnigan! Hat three!"

"Harry Potter!" Hermione leaned forward as she waited to hear what hat he was assigned to. "Hat three!" Harry got up from his desk with a dazed expression on his face, clearly surprised he got hat three at all. Seamus slapped him on the back when he got there.

"Millicent Bulstrode! Hat four!"

"Vincent Crabbe! Hat one!" Draco snorted in disgust.

"Gregory Goyle! Hat one!" 

"Ronald Weasley Hat three!" Ron got up with a sigh of relief before going over to join Harry and Seamus.

"Neville Longbottom! Hat two!" Neville sighed, his back hunched as went to join a sympathetic Dean. Hermione's heart went out to the boy. 

"Draco Malfoy!" Hermione's ear perked, and her fingers gripped the desk tightly. "Hat four!" Silently screaming with desperation, she watched as he swaggered over to the highest rank hat and stood behind Millicent. She was going to be in Hat four. Malfoy was already one of the candidates that she might have to be partnered up with. Biting down so hard on her lip that she tasted copper, she awaited her name.

"Hermione Granger! Hat four!" Scrambling up, she quickly went to join Draco and Millicent. Harry and Ron gave her thumbs up signs at making the highest rank, though it clearly was no surprise.

"Lavender Brown! Hat two!"

"Parvati Patil! Hat two!"

"Morag Mcdougal! Hat four!" Hermione's mind drifted away from the sorting, and her eyes went to the hat. Her name was somewhere in there. Mixed with more names, waiting to be partnered together. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pushed down the feeling of trepidation that bubbled nervously in her stomach. She suddenly felt sick. Feeling her lunch wanting to come up, she took in a few shaky breaths as Flitwick finished name calling. Draco, apparently hearing her slight hyperventilation, turned around to leer at her.

"Scared, Granger?..." He asked, lips curling uncannily like Professor Snape's. Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"No, are you?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. He simply brought a hand to his face and breathed across his nails. _How arrogant_, she thought to herself idly with disgust. 

"Me? Scared? As, if…" Wrinkling her nose at him, she turned her attention back to their charms professor. 

"The first students standing in front of the hat, if you will, please take out a name." He instructed. Transfixed, Hermione watched as Millicent Bulstrode plucked her large, masculine hand into the bouncing wizard hat and then took a slip of parchment out. _Please pick Malfoy_, she pleaded to Millicent in her mind. Millicent opened the slip of parchment and then turned toward the people behind her. Hermione's fingers wrung at the folds of her school robes, hope gathering in her heart. Maybe she wouldn't get stuck with Malfoy. Any Slytherin was better then him anyway. Most Slytherins really didn't take their time to make someone's life miserable unless a person really provoked them. Unlike Malfoy, who did it on a daily basis without the slightest bit of provocation. Even now as she waited behind the very person whom her thoughts went to, she could not help but feel some hope that they would not be partnered. But, like glass, it was shattered in only moments. 

"Morag, you're my partner…" She said, walking past Malfoy and Hermione. Scuffing her foot at the floor with anger, Hermione glared at Malfoy when he laughed at her. Taking in deep breaths, she turned to look at the other groups. Seamus was lucky to be partnered with Harry. Neville was partnered with Dean. That was good, because then the boy wouldn't have to worry about some Slytherin breathing down his neck. Ron was partnered with Blaise Zabini, who did not look very happy at all. After Millicent walked back to her desk, pulling Morag with her, Draco stepped up to the hat. _Let him pick someone else_, she silently pleaded. Not even looking at the hat, his eyes captured hers. Feeling her breath quicken again in surprise, she gazed back. Not once did he blink at her as his hand delved into the bouncing hat. This was a moment of truth… The Slytherin prince did not break eye contact once as he opened the slip of parchment he had pulled out. He took once glance at the paper before turning it around to show her who his partner was. 

'Hermione Granger'

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A/N: muhahahaha… yes, I am indeed evil to leave a cliffhanger like such! And yes, I do know that I have just used what might be the most clichéd plot line in draco/Hermione shipper of all time. But I promise you, its for good use. Everything that happens, does happen for a reason so don't loose intertest now! I try to not use so cliché plots, ill do my best.

Now be a dear for little ol' me and take a little visit to that purple button down there. You see it? Yup, its that one down there. If u click on that, then I shall love u muhahahahaha.

  
  



	8. Dangerous Detention

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the fabulous harry Potter. Though I would like to personally own a few of those sexy bish british boys. If ever the chance comes, I will have a brander in hand and papers for J.K rowling to sign. 

I would like to thank Sugaricing, Christina *Looks at Christina who is effectively snogging Daniel*, Ashes Kittyhawk, The outcast, Kiyoko, terin kail, and Dolineth.

Terin Kail: Your question was: why is this story in the romance section. Though it seems that it will be impossible to get Draco and Hermione together, the 'love' will be later, or maybe not… *wink*

Look closely in this chapter, there will be a little bit of lyrics that go to the part uh…. Yeah. ALSO, if you noticed, both P.O.V's of Hermione and Draco switch a bit during a one scene but there is no change of scene like I usually do with the chapters. So it might be a little confusing but I think you will be able to tell when the P.O.V's alternate.

And for the people wondering when the hell the cold fire will be mentioned… I reckon that the whole mystery starts in chapter 9 so just hang in there and enjoy! 

Oh! And a minor mistake in chapter 7! I said that Ron was in hat three and blaise zabini was hat 2. But I paired them up. I meant to put blaise in hat 3, my bad!       

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'Hermione Granger'

Hermione Granger blinked, her eyes widening upon the sight of her written name on the slip of parchment held in Draco's Malfoy's elegant hand. He was leaning his weight partially upon one leg, his head slightly tilted to give her a most rhetorical expression. _No, this simply can't be happening. This has had to be just some horrible nightmare that I'll wake up to and say 'golly, that was a **horrible nightmare**!!!' _She thought to herself in a fit of panic. For a moment, she could not process the reality that she was paired up with the smuggest rat that was ever dragged into Hogwarts. Well, perhaps the 'smuggest ferret' for Ron's part. Nearly tackling the boy, Hermione seized the parchment from his hand and raked her wide, horror filled eyes over it. Behind her shoulder she could hear Draco snickering into the sleeve of his robes. It was just like him to start laughing at her displeasure. _Chortling Weasel…_

Whipping around, she pushed roughly past him, shoulder knocking, to Professor Flitwick's desk. He was sitting up on a high stool, watching merrily as his students sized up their new charms partners. _The staff must have been completely barmy if they think that house unity could be achieved by these means, _she thought to herself. It was mad! It was so mad that it made her mind boggle crazily. Merlin surely was laughing at her somewhere in the universe. ****

"Professor Flitwick, may I have a minute of your time?" Hermione asked, fighting down the quick breaths hitched up in her chest. A dizzy spell seemingly was conjured inside her head, making her hands grab hard at a nearby desk. Flitwick started out of his watching to see a most disgruntled Hermione Granger standing in front of him. Something must have been wrong because the color in her face didn't lie. The Gryffindor prefect looked quite ready to chunder there upon his stone floor. Smiling warmly, he finally nodded his head.

"Of course, you may. What ails you, Ms. Granger?" The professor asked. Hermione took a moment to inhale sharply and then looked over her shoulder. Following her eyes he could see Draco Malfoy leaning against the wall next to Hat four, scowling in a corner. The strong outline of his body was framed in darkness and shade. _Hmmm, he was quite intimidating_. He was looking down at the slip of parchment down in his hands before tearing it up into many pieces, an almost maniac expression on his face. Flitwick could only blink hard as he watched the Slytherin then point his wand at the torn pieces of paper and burst them into flame. The silver haired seventeen year old looked quite pleased, his eyes wandering over the smoking ash. Ah, so she was paired up with whom Professor Trelawney liked to call "The sadist of Hogwarts"

"It's my partner, Professor, to say the least. Draco Malfoy and I don't get along on the best of terms, as you can see. I believe that being partnered up with him will be a hindrance and a danger to my grades." She said softly, occasionally gazing down at the floor, her eyes troubled. Flitwick sighed, and pursed his lips for a moment. He knew at least one unhappy student would come up to him with a complaint about his or her partner. It was inevitable when Gryffindor and Slytherin were brought together and wrapped around with the fingers of force. Lion and Snake were born and died bitter enemies. The headmaster carefully reminded him that the current arrangements would bring uproar among the student body, but it would eventually fade. When the idea of bringing the two houses closer together, he himself had protested. It was difficult enough to distinguish which house indeed hated one another more then the other. Who needed war within the safe sanctuary of the school when war was already raging outside amidst the wizarding world with the return of Lord Voldemort?

"Ms. Granger, while I know that you and Mister Malfoy don't get along, the two of you share the same levels in charms. By working with someone who bares the same rank of intelligence on the subject, you two could establish a true project of brilliance. Put aside the hate for now. You two may end up even being friends…" The professor said, ignoring the snort of derisiveness that Hermione accidentally let escape. Meanwhile, the Gryffindor prefect could hardly believe what she was hearing. _Become friends?_ That was as possible as the idea of Voldemort sitting around a bonfire dressed in tie-dye with rainbow love beads around his neck, while saying "Make love, not war". While the image was comical to her mind, it was still dreadfully impossible. Impossible as her and Draco Malfoy getting along like justly civil people. Clenching her fist, she looked to Professor Flitwick again, desperation in her eyes. After all, that's what she had come to be at that moment: Desperate and none too complaisant.

"But, Professor-" She started again, her insides squelching. 

"Now, Ms.Granger, I cannot start changing partners or else every other student will have the same desire to as well. So I must decline of your request." Flitwick said with finality in his voice that clearly stated that the conversation was over. Hermione bowed her head in defeat, her eyes falling to look down at the floor. Well there was no changing it. She, Hermione Granger, would have to work with the biggest bastard she had ever met in her entire life. The professor seeing how disappointed she was could only offer her a sympathetic smile. Then a strange light bloomed to life in his old eyes. The tiny wizard leaned over in his chair to whisper to her, as if sharing his deepest, darkest secret.

"Perhaps it is fate that has paired you up with Draco Malfoy. There is always a reason for why things happen, Ms.Granger. In time, you will understand what that is." He whispered, a twinkle in his eyes. Hermione could only stare at her professor for a moment, letting his words sink in. Whatever reason there was for fate to bring Draco and her together, she most certainly did not want to know. 

"Well, a fat lot of good that did…" She muttered, turning away to return to where Draco stood brooding. How could she expect her charms teacher to understand the predicament that she was caught up in like a helpless fish in a net? On her way back to the hat, Harry and Ron trudged up to her. Ron had his arms crossed defiantly over his chest, a frown tugging the corner of his lips down. Harry might have been the only one to be pleased with his partner since he would be working side by side with a fellow Gryffindor. Looking over Ron's shoulder, she could see a very irritated Blaise Zabini sitting atop a desk, legs crossed, hands clenched. 

"Just be glad the both of you didn't get partnered up with Pansy Parkinson. That complete _cow_…" She said

"As if a day of classes couldn't get worse, we now have charms with these slimy gits." Ron growled. Harry looked around as if asking who her partner was. Hermione could only sigh, knowing what was to happen once she told them who she was doomed with. Now, not only did she have to suffer detention with the conniving Slytherin, but she also had to work with him for the next few months on the seventh year task that would no doubt determine half her final grade. The thought of that made an unpleasant shudder pass through her. No one messed with her grades except her; she would make sure of it…

"Who you working with, Hermione?" Asked Harry. Gulping, she could only weakly jab her finger over her shoulder to where Malfoy stood in the darkness of the classroom corner. Harry's startling green eyes widened into saucers and he muttered a quiet exclamation of "Oh Crikey…" while Ron began to splutter soundlessly. Sinking down into a chair, she buried her face into her hands, sighing again. Hearing both boys fall into chairs silently next to her, she leaned against Ron's shoulder tiredly. She felt both physically and mentally exhausted. The day could not pass by quick enough for her liking. Time was toying with her; bending her to its will. The afternoon itself seemed to get longer and longer as the day wore on. 

"I swear… If that bullying toerag does something to you, Hermione…" Ron whispered, his sentence floating in the air. Both of her friends looked completely miffed at the situation. Sighing with exasperation, she let them pat her sympathetically on the shoulder.

"The professor can't do anything about it, can he?" Harry finally asked. 

"No, he can't. He says that it might be good for us to work together. We might become friends, he said. Total Rubbish!" Hermione whispered venomously as she glared in Malfoy's direction. Ron guffawed dubiously at the idea of Hermione and Malfoy becoming friends. 

"Friends? Oh that's a whole lot of bollocks…" Ron muttered. "The only thing you'll get out of this sodding project, Hermione, is a mess of rows and a bloodied up Malfoy. Can't say that I wouldn't be delighted to see the likes of him hexed into pieces." Hermione stared back at Ron as he said this. It was obvious that the current situations were already hard upon her heavily burdened shoulders. Both her friends knew that Draco had what was coming to him by working with her. He was the fire that lit the fuse of her violent hate. Harry was about to reply when an annoyingly familiar voice yelled in their direction.

"Hey, Granger! Get over here!" Malfoy hollered from the corner of the room, his eyebrows furrowed with frustration. He decided to make his presence known to all from the cloak of shadow that he had wrapped himself in. The Gryffindor prefect scowled and got up from her seat, Harry and Ron fuming. Stalking past her fellow students, she made her way over to where he stood. Draco reminded her of those types of men who didn't let woman breathe a word of their opinion unless they were willing to get beat for it. His father probably had Narcissa Malfoy on chains, commanding her to polish his shoes clean with her tongue. Hermione could not help but feel a twinge of sympathy for whoever had to marry him in the future. 

Opening her mouth to speak, the words ready to pour out of her lips quickly jumped back down her throat as Malfoy had already began speaking. His tone was in an icy whisper that sent deep, spiked shivers down her spine. There was something very frightening about the Slytherin as he towered over her, his form close to hers. So tall he was that any light coming in from the windows was blocked out by his shoulders. Shadow crawled up her skin like spiders.

"Listen, you trog…" Malfoy whispered, ignoring Hermione as her nostrils flared indignantly like an infuriated bull. "I don't want to be partnered up with _you_ anymore then you do, so let's get some facts straight right now…" He began, narrowing his grey eyes as he slowly but surely backed her into the stone wall. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest, lips tight. He could see every eyelash of her eyes as he spoke to her. A burst of self satisfaction bubbled within his stomach, making the corners of his delicate lips curl up into a smirk

"_I_ decide what our charms task is on. _I_ decide when we meet to do the bloody spell crafting. And most of all, _I_ decide who will be doing what during the project." Stepping back, he noticed that a swarm of a storm clouded her stubborn features. His words indeed had a strong, powerful potency. His father taught him how to achieve that. How else would he gain ascendance among the Ministry whence he entered his father's shoes?

"And you think I'm going to let you get away with ordering me around?" She asked, hands on her hips, eyebrow raised.

"Yes," He said as a matter of fact. "Yes, I do…" She chuckled mirthlessly. This only made him angrier.

"And let you soil my grades? Fat chance, Malfoy. No one orders me around, least of all, you…" Hermione said with a twinge of irate amusement floating airily in her eyes. Draco glared daggers at her as she pushed herself past him, the wild mane of hair nearly smacking his face with audacity. No one in their right mind turned their back on a Malfoy. In situations like this, he was the boss! He was dominant figure! No one talked against his dignity. Especially not filth like Granger… 

****

****

****

**_****_**

**_No_**

**_Hear me out now_**

**_You're gonna listen to me _**

**_Like it or not_**

**_Right now_**

****_  (Faint, Linkin Park)_

Reaching out to grab her arm fiercely, he was stopped by the soundings of the bell. Hermione scampered away, bidding her two dolt friends farewell and then making a speedy rush to the door. Class was dismissed. _Bugger_, Draco said in his mind. Lessons were over, it was time for Detention. Inwardly groaning with exasperation, he grabbed his books and hurried out the large doors. 

Granger was not too far away up the corridor, her footfalls somewhat loud and heavy. No doubt she was as unhappy as he was about having to have such a long detention. But at least the sad trog wasn't missing a Quidditch practice in the process. Then again, she didn't seem like the sort to take part in sports. Her nose was always buried in some book like the no-life bookworm she was. Blaise hadn't been too happy about his defeat on the pitch last week, and was very reluctant to let the argument go. Wondering how the evening would be spent in the company of McGonagall and Hermione Granger, he stalked down the hall, glaring at all who stood in his way. 

Granger turned sharply into the empty Transfiguration classroom, Draco following behind closely. That old bat McGonagall was sitting at her desk, quill moving erratically over some student's essay. Her lips were tightly pursed. Swaggering past the rows of empty desk, nearly knocking over Granger in the process, he came to stand at his professor's desk. She looked up from her work, eyes hard. Hermione silently stood next to him after a moment. She had an unreadable expression on her soft features, her small hands clutching her school bag to her chest. Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention back to the professor.

"Good afternoon, Ms.Granger… Mr. Malfoy…" McGonagall acknowledged him with a curt nod of her head. She got up from her chair and swept away from the desk, adjusting her glasses as she did so. 

"Now, the detention that has been set up for you will be for a week and a half. Professor Snape wouldn't have it any other way considering the measure of damage done to his classroom. Just be grateful that it is not your potions master handling your detention…" She said, looking pointedly at Hermione when speaking. Draco crossed his arms and let his eyes wander around the room leisurely. _What a waste of time…_ He thought to himself slowly. 

"You will be doing work without the aid of your wands so give them here for safe keeping. I will return them after your whole two hours are finished." She said, holding out her hand to both students. This caught Draco's attention. Without the aid of magic? Was she barking? What in gods name was she going to make them do? Fighting the snarl of agitation, with great hesitation he placed his wand into the professor's waiting, outstretched hand. Granger sighed from beside him, giving hers up as well.

"Follow me please." McGonagall then said bluntly. The Gryffindor and Slytherin's eyes met for a brief moment before following their transfiguration teacher's footsteps. 

The two Hogwarts students continued to walk in seek of Professor McGonagall's stiffly walking back. Unknown to Draco, Hermione could not help but glance at the tall boy beside her with a thoughtful approach. He moved quite like he always did: quick and stealthily like a cat. In the darkening of the empty corridors, silver hair glowed with a pretentious light that glued her eyes to him. His pointed facial features were composed like stone, eyebrows furrowed with inner abomination. The Slytherin's lips were set in a thin line, as if he really wanted to say something but refused to. Nearly tripping on the hem of her robes in the haste as she followed McGonagall, she glanced once more at him. 

Blushing angrily as he caught her staring, she hurried away from him. _Opps_, she thought silently. This detention would sure as hell be unnerving…

*****

Draco rolled his eyes as Hermione blushed furiously and hurried away. _Caught in the act, Granger?_ He thought to himself wryly. What was it with her and observing him? She was like some scientist studying some specimen. He didn't know anything about Granger being a scientist, but he certainly knew that he was one hell of a specimen, and an interesting one at that. The thought in mind caused him to lift his nose to the air, frowning in disdain at people who passed. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he continued to follow the teacher and fellow student.

Glancing around, he noticed with annoyance that Christmas cheer had spread as fast as the black plague among the jostling students. Holiday break was in a few days, thank Merlin, but he would have to finish his detention when coming back from the Manor. Wreaths of red berries and holly adorned the walls with myriads of ribbon hanging from each high point of the towering, cathedral like ceiling. Festive green and red lights blinked and gleamed while silver and gold tinsel graced the rows of metal armor along the corridors. Nearly Headless Nick was floating near the great hall singing "Come all ye faithful". Even Peeves seemed caught up in the spread of Holiday cheer because he was blowing more raspberries then ever while sporting a large Father Christmas hat.

All of which Draco was seeing made him sick. All of it… He could almost taste the cheer in the air, it was so thick. The distant caroling of the drifting castle ghosts were ringing in his ears and giving him a headache. Snorting in disgust at the amounts of students snogging relentlessly under the mistletoe, Pansy came to his mind. _Lord_, he would have to avoid the Slytherin common room as all costs if he didn't want a repeat of last year. At that last years Christmas, he had just come into the Common room from his dormitory when Pansy floated over, a scrap of mistletoe raised in her hand over their heads. For ten minutes straight, he had lead her on a chase through the dungeons, hot on his trail like some hound hunting a fox. It was only when he had crashed, face first, into the wall, that he got sucked down his dormitory laundry chute as his only escape. But then there was that little matter of the Slytherin's having to wake Professor Snape in the middle of the night so that he could rescue Draco who was stuck halfway down the chute, yowling like an angry cat drenched in water. Later that night, Pansy cornered him in the Hospital Wing. The memory made him shudder in revolt. Small miniscule fairies were bobbing along the corridor, throwing mistletoe over peoples head like the cherubs would do with flowers on Valentine's Day. 

A shadow of dismay cast its way over his mind as a whisper of cold air brushed across his neck. Buttoning his open robes, he could only wonder what was happening as McGonagall lead them past the marble staircase, past the magnificent entrance hall and toward the double doors. Hermione seemly stumped as well, her head tilting slightly in confusion. The Transfiguration professor turned to make sure that they have followed obediently before looking back at the double doors. In a silent command, the massive doors creaked open, a howl of wind blowing at the rim of her pointed hat. The school grounds out before them were covered in a vast, impressive blanket of fluffy white pleasure, little flakes continuing to fall from the sky. This was the first blizzard that Hogwarts had seen for a long time, but it only seemed to heighten the Christmas cheer ringing in the hearts of students.

McGonagall took forth her own wand and pointed at the snow that they met as soon as the door opened. The snow had to be at least two feet so far. Pointing her wand, a jet of red light bloomed and started to melt the snow away from her path. Draco silently scratched his head in confusion. What work were they going to be doing outside? Following McGonagall as she plowed her way foreword, snow shooting away to create a path, the two seventh year prefects walked. Granger hugged herself from the bitter cold, the wind sweeping her wild hair into the air. The professor stopped plowing, stashed her wand away and then turned to them. Somewhat far in the distance he could see the majestic front gates, shimmering against the last rays of sunlight that sunk over the mountains. 

"You must be wondering why the both of you are out here. Well, you will serve your detention outside these doors. The task of the detention is to plow all the snow that leads down to the gates up ahead so that you can find the path. The students leaving for the holidays do use this path to get to the carriages," She explained, ignoring the fact that both mouths of the student before her dropped open. "Without the aid of magic, you will use these. I had better be receiving them back at the end of the two hours so that I may return them to professor Hagrid." She barked, before holding out two large shovels. Granger had taken hers and was looking at the snow reproachfully. Draco only stood there, not showing an effort to take the offending working tool that was being held out for him.

"Let me get this straight, Professor. You want me and Granger to use these _things_ and dig out the path to the gates?..." He asked, an eyebrow raised. McGonagall's expression hardened at his disrespectful tone. 

"Perhaps I did not elaborate clearly enough. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, you and Ms. Granger will be using these _shovels_ to reform the path that leads down to the front gates. I will fetch the both of you later this evening before dinner." She snapped, thrusting the working tool into his lax hand. Remaining silent as the professor performed an anti-freezing charm on them, she then turned and disappeared into the castle, the doors closing behind her with a final thud. The charm would only protect them from frost bite, not being cold, Draco realized angrily. Granger quietly turned away from him, holding her shovel. Throwing down his shovel, he glared at her.

"You just had to get us a detention, Granger…" She turned to look at him, eyes narrowed.

"Hey, you brought it upon yourself when hexing Seamus's quidditch badge, so don't blame it on me." 

"My fault, is it?" He snarled. 

"Yes, it is your fault, Malfoy. Now, I recommend getting to work." she said, referring to the shovel. When he only looked down at it in his hands with pursed lips, she smirked. 

"What? Don't know how to do a bit of work, Malfoy?" She asked, mildly wondering how she was the one leering now. Six years of receiving verbal abuse was bubbling up now like a brewing potion from within her.

"Unlike your family of filthy little muggles, we _wizard_ folk use magic for dirty work like this." He said, putting emphasis on the work 'wizard'. She only snorted.

"Even wizards can't use magic for everything, Malfoy. I guess the only hard work you've had to suffer is carrying the back breaking weight of your money bag because only Merlin knows that's so arduous and exhausting." She drawled dramatically with a sarcasm that made his eyes see fire. Clenching his fist and wondering if he could knock her unconscious with only one blow to the head with his shovel, he advanced on her. Before a threat could come from the bottom of his throat, she lifted her working tool up in front of her like a sword.

"I've been working with these a lot longer then you have, Malfoy… Don't make me give you a concussion. The swelling would enlarge your already oversized head. I won't hit you for the sake of all the people you harass." She growled before turning away, throwing her hair over her shoulder and scooping up some snow into her shovel.

Malfoy could only turn away and kick at the piling snow. He would be stuck out there for almost two hours every day with Granger, surrounded by nothing but snow, and have to dig through a raging blizzard. Cursing loudly as his foot came in contact with his shovel; he limped over to the stone wall and leaned against it. Nursing his foot, he failed to notice the suppressed giggle that came from the shoveling Gryffindor. His eyes ran angrily over the snow covered school grounds. In the far distance he could see Hogsmeade station. In a few days, the red Hogwarts express would speed along the platform, picking up students for the holidays. But even the thought of going home was not at all comforting. Draco tightened his robes, wanting nothing more than to be in his dormitory, tucked away under his sheets and alone in the dark. The dark gave him comfort. The dark was sometimes his companion, whispering little nothings in his ear as he lay protected within the sanctuary of his bed curtains. 

Turning his gaze onto Granger, he spied her slowly shoveling through the snow, a small patch of the path already visible under her feet. He watched her movements with intense interest, noting the way she bent over, the way she flung the shovel over her shoulder, snow flying into a pile on the side. He noted the way she would unconsciously move tendrils of messy curls out of her face. Already her cheeks were a rosy pink from the nipping cold. The work itself didn't seem to bother her that much, probably having done it before. Her parents being nothing but muggles, they probably all did work like that. _Helpless, grotesque Muggles_, he thought to himself in disgust. It was a wonder how such an inferior people survived in the world without the aid of magic.

But then again, he often heard gossip among the Slytherins that Muggles had a magic of their very own. Something called electricity. Someone once told him that muggles lived in vast cities of technology and machines that never sleep. He often wondered how they conjured things like that if they didn't have magic to help them. But then again, there was no use attempting to figure out the lifestyles of Muggle life. He would leave that to the mudblood and muggle-lovers. Crashing back to reality when a particularly strong gust of wind bit at his pale face, he looked once more over to Granger. The snarky trog was making obvious progress but she was working a bit to slow for his taste.

"Hey, Granger, shovel a little faster why don't you?" He yelled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stone wall. She halted in her work, her back to him for a moment. She then turned to face him, face tight. It was uncanny how someone could look like Minerva McGonagall in only a matter of seconds. 

"Shovel faster? Why don't you get off your lazy bum and do some work? It will go faster if we both shovel anyways. A bit of real work won't kill you…" She said, hands on her hip in that annoyingly familiar way. Ignoring her suggestion to help, he pretended to be in deep thought for a minute.

"Nah, I don't feel like it much. I'll let you continue with the work, Granger. But do shovel a bit faster, I would like to make it back in time for dinner." Draco replied, studying his fingernails with extreme interest as if he didn't have a single care. With a wide smirk, he could almost hear her echoing his words in her head.

His attention was wrenched away from his nails when a shovel was dropped at his feet, Hermione glaring at him. She looked to be fighting to stay in control, a deadly gleam in her eye. Ah, so there was a Slytherin in there somewhere… Lip curling with disdain at the shovel in front of him, he pushed it away with his foot. He could only snigger with pride as she stalked away, throwing her hands up in defeat. Soon, the only sounds that filled the air were the whistling of the howling wind and the brisk sound of the shovel moving across the ground. Once or twice it would be broken with her grumbles of,

"…… Lazy prat……no work……. Snarky Slytherin…..Wait till….McGonagall…." 

Silence reined over as night came over head, stars almost invisible in the velvet sky. A moment later, the quiet came to a sudden halt when a loud sigh caused Hermione Granger to stop her work. Shaking her head and believing it to be the wind, she scooped up more snow. She came to freeze again when an even louder sigh penetrated her concentration. Turning her head quickly to look over her shoulder, the prefect could still see Draco leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She grunted at the plastered angelic expression that danced across his features. _Smug Bastard_, she thought to herself. Trying to ignore his sickening innocence, Hermione went back to digging through the snow, seemingly looking for some buried treasure. 

When yet another, obvious sigh crackled in her ears, she turned to look at him.

"Could you stop doing that?" She asked, switching her shovel from hand to hand. He turned his silver-haired head to gaze at her as if noticing she was there only for the first time. 

"Stop doing what?..." asked sinless. Shaking her head, Hermione began to walk back to her snow pile. 

Sigh!! Back tightening like a cat readying to pounce, she spoke.

"Think you're funny, do you?..." He opened his mouth at the question, feigning ignorance, his eyes large as if her words hurt him.

"Who me?... What ever have I done, Granger?" He asked, a sneer threatening to overcome his overly smug face. It was just like him to attempt getting her to loose all homeostasis of her senses. He desired to make her loose all self will and control. He wanted the Gryffindor know it all to be rid of her prized insanity, her very personality. She would not give that to him. Taking in a deep breath, her hands coming to brush down the stray curls that seemed to frizzle even more when she was agitated, she counted slowly to ten and back down to one. Her father always did that when he thought he would be on the verge. It was essential for him to remain strictly calm so that his anger would not put him on the fatal receiving end of a heart attack. For her, the level headed muggle-born, it was not many times that she had to count back down to balanced poise. 

"Just shut up and let me work." She demanded, ignoring the satisfying image of Draco lying in the snow, her shovel still raised in the air from when she smacked him in the face with it. If she could barely keep her grip on inner tranquility and constraint now, she could only imagine what would happen when working on the charms project with him. She could see it now… His tombstone would read "Here lays Draco Malfoy, smug bastard of Slytherin house, died after UN-subdue Gryffindor strangled him relentlessly with his own tongue." Then of course she would be shipped off to some private ward in St. Mungo's where she could be constrained within a small, white padded room, growling like a disturbed cat with rabies. 

Being brought back from her thoughts when Draco made a throaty tutting noise, she grimaced.

"Time is of the essence, Granger," He simpered, tapping an elegant finger to his imaginary watch. "If you want to meet Potty and Weasel for dinner, you'll have to hurry it along." 

As he opened his mouth to make further comments about her shoveling, he was only met with a face full of snow. Spitting out the ball of snow that had hit him square in the face, he stepped away from the wall, coughing. The snorts of laughter coming from a few feet away lead him to who the damned culprit was. Rubbing snow furiously out of his eyes, he whipped around to look at Hermione who was grasping at her stomach with one hand, the other still holding her shovel. Laughter was pouring out of her open mouth, her eyes in little crescent moons, she was laughing so hard. Snarling dangerously, he took a step forward but recoiled again when another hard, icy ball of snow came into contact with his burning face. The mudblood was practically on the ground, nearly wetting herself in joy. 

"You'll pay for that, Mudblood!" He thundered, lunging forward, eyes like angry slits. She apparently was waiting for him to strike because she just stepped out of the way as he flew through the air. Draco fell in an unceremonious thud in her pile of snow, the snowflakes getting caught in his eyelashes. Growling ferociously, he made to scamper off the ground. She was still laughing hysterically like he expected. The sight of Malfoy lying upon the snow, his face as red as a beet had to be one hell of a memory to keep. What he did not expect though was for her to grab the loopholes of his trousers where his belt was and to drop a snowball down the back. She stepped back, shovel in hand, pleased with her victory. It took only moments for Draco to register the cold ice stuffed down the back of his trousers before he yowled. Mouth open in a scream, he jumped up from the snow yelling like a banshee. 

Hermione was beside herself, tears of laughter pouring down her cold, raw face as Malfoy jumped around the dug out clearing, kicking his legs as he tried to get the snowball to fall out the bottom of his trousers. It was so unbecoming and unlike the elegant, serpent like Slytherin that she fell back onto the snow clutching her stomach. 

"It's cold! It's cold! Bloody hell!!" He howled, not noticing Hermione who was squawking like a bird.

Draco beat his hand along his legs, watching as snow poured out the pant leg. Little cries escaped involuntarily from his mouth as the cold ice coated his skin. Finally getting the last sprinkles of snow out of his trousers, the phantom had arisen from hell. Standing tall at his full height, straightening his robes after that rather…er… humiliating and awkward moment, he turned to look at his prey who was sitting on the ground trying to catch her breath. His trembling lips lifted in the most chilling snarl that had yet to make its appearance on his stone sculpted features. Her laughter died away slowly as she took upon the sight of his pale face growing further redder. Anyone could have dropped to death by just looking into his eyes. With renowned stealth, he took a step toward where she sat. His tongue splayed across the back of his grit teeth as he could almost taste the new fear coming from her body. It took a moment for him to get his breath back.

"Think its funny, Granger?! You won't think it's so funny when I bury you alive in a winters grave!" He roared.

"Goodness!" She cried before jumping up from the ground and tearing away across the snow. She couldn't run fast as the snow was a hindrance, but it was enough. Draco roared like a dragon before ripping after her, hand out to grab. He would get her, and when he did…. No mercy… She would pay! No one humiliated him! Blinded by his rage, he ran rather clumsily after her, but nothing would stop him until her flesh was being stripped apart under his blood craving finger tips. Never had his face been such a red, it was inhuman. Feeling as though his lungs were going to burst with adrenaline, he continued to claw after her running form. Her fun was running out.

If they took the time to notice, the two would have realized that there was a group of young students crowded around the windows in the lower tower cheering on. 

He was behind her now, arms outstretched, their feet spraying snow every where. His locks of platinum hair were no longer slick but running in wildly abandoned strands around his face and curling around his neck. Granger's bushy hair was a cloud in the wind, and he could hear her panting as she tore through the snow that slowed her movement down. Reaching forward, his fingers met with black fabric. Grabbing savagely at her cloak, they fell in a heap on the ground, Granger wriggling like a worm trying to escape. She was not distinctly aware of the feeling of snow riding up her legs and melting on her skin. She was only focusing on escaping his reach. She could feel him tugging fiercely at her cloak as she crawled away. 

Finally rolling away from his hands, she got up from the ground. Grabbing quickly at the nearest shovel, she arched it over her head, ready to swing if he came forward. He only stood there, shaking with odious laughter, his eyes gleaming like black diamonds in the night. He looked very much like the part he played as a dark lord when he haunted her very dreams. Very slowly he bent down and picked up the other shovel from the ground. So, he would kill her after all. Telling herself to remain composed and brave, they continued to stare at each other, shovels ready to fight if needed.

"What is going on here?!!" A familiar voice barked. Hermione started and dropped her shovel to see McGonagall standing rigid as a board at the open double doors. The crowd of curious students who had been watching the battle had now come down from the tower and were bunched behind McGonagall. Draco set his working tool down as well but looked unfazed. However, disappointment flooded through him. They were so close to going head on. He never let a challenge go, especially when be appointed to one by a mudblood Gryffindor. The Transfiguration professor took in a great breath, readying herself to scream but stopped short when she saw that part of the path had already been dug through. Chest deflating like a balloon, she gave a sigh.

"I would take points away for your inappropriate behavior toward one another, but seeing as how you have gotten some work done, I will refrain…for now…" She said. Hermione opened her mouth to say that she was the only one who had done the work but stopped when she felt Malfoy's foot digging purposely into her frozen toes. Heaving a heavy sigh as McGonagall handed her back her wand, the two followed the professor back into the castle. Her clothes were sodden with snow and she was chilled to the bone. Malfoy was in a right state next to her, his pursed lips white. He was just as frustrated as she. Of course, she could not help wonder what would have happened if McGonagall hadn't came. 

Hermione turned and began to go up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower when someone grabbed her arm in a vice grip. Whipping around, she looked down to see Draco on the bottom of the stairs, his fingers fierce around her flesh. His gaze could have sent her back to the Hospital wing petrified. 

"What do you want now?" She asked. The detention was over until tomorrow and she did not intend to see him again until then.

"Wednesday. Library. Project. Be there or I'll hunt you down…and you won't have McGonagall to save you…" He whispered before sweeping away down the corridor, snow dripping from his robes. Hermione could not help but snort as the image of him with snow down his trousers came back to her mind once more. Turning back toward the staircase, she gave a somewhat cheery wave to the portrait on the wall beside her.

*****

A/N: well… that was interesting. This chapter didn't come out quite as good as I had hoped for but next chapter should be muhahahaha well tata for now! Review please! 


	9. The Cold Fire

Disclaimer: Most unfortunately, I do not own any of those tantalizing characters that belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. 

I would like to thank all those who reviewed for chapter 8, including Samhaincat, Cinnamon, sugaricing, ashesKittyHawk, Kiyoko, Christina *who had thrown a very excited Daniel on the bed*, Loretta, and my cuz Bigevil.

At last, readers of the world!!!! The mysteries of the cold fire will finally surface today!!! Muhahahaha!! *cackles amidst lightening and thunder*

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Oh, what I would have _done_ to see you stuff snow down the back of Malfoy's trousers… you are brilliant, Hermione…" Ginny Weasley murmured in an awed tone, her cheeks still a flustered pink from the traces of mirth that bubbled actively in her stomach. Hermione Granger and she were slowly walking down the drafty corridors of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was Wednesday afternoon, and already the evidence of evening was peaking over the mountaintops, eager to take up its mighty throne in the heavens above. Hermione blushed with satisfaction, her fingers tightening around the books hugged to her chest. Harry and Ron had decided to remain in Gryffindor tower to start their Divination assignments, which no doubt meant making up the most preposterous predictions of their ever awaiting doom. 'The ol' bat Trelawney will wet herself in excitement when she reads of my prediction that a great, big army of flying rabbits will attack Hogwarts, and take us all captive.' Ron had told her earlier. 

"When do you have to meet him for the charms assignment?" Asked Ginny, her watchful brown eyes lolling leisurely around the stone hallway. Wisps of fiery red hair escaped the messy ponytail that was tied at the base of her neck. Hermione then gave an audible sigh, a sniffle of annoyance escaping her nostrils.

"Now, actually…" She admitted, her lip unconsciously curling. Ginny offered her a sympathetic expression. But then a light of revelation bloomed to life on her features.

"Hey, at least today was the last day of classes. _And_ you won't have to see the rotten git until he gets back from the Holidays." The sixth year Gryffindor reminded with a grin while wagging her index finger. At this, the bushy haired prefect's heart soared with irrevocable elation. She would have almost two weeks without that insufferable, conniving toe-rag breathing verbal abuse down the back of her neck. As this fact registered throughout her system, a light, almost fuzzy feeling sprung awake in her gut. Without the constant, clawing of projects and dreadfully long detentions with a certain Slytherin menace, she could enjoy a tranquil holiday with her friends, finishing up any access homework and receive the solace that she long lacked. 

"I still have to meet him at the library in a few minutes though. Trust me, Ginny; Malfoy will make it his personal business to make me go completely mad before he leaves for the Holidays. The prat won't set foot out of Hogwarts until he has the satisfaction of annoying me to the point where I'm throwing myself off the astronomy tower." Hermione grumbled, uttering a giggle from Ginny. Tucking some stubborn, wild curls behind her ear, her thoughts drifted back to the last two detentions she and Malfoy had. Monday, the two had nearly dueled with the use of snow shovels, abandoning all thought of magic. That was until McGonagall promptly broke up the raging battle. Tuesday, Draco never once touched his working tool, and took to lounging around barking insults at her laboring back. 

"Well, I think it will be Malfoy throwing himself off the astronomy tower after a library session with you, Hermione," Joked Ginny, dodging a swat from Hermione's hand. The two Gryffindor's shared a laugh, admitting that it was somewhat true. They all knew that once Hermione Granger's feet touched that of the stone floor in the library, power was hers. It was in library sessions that the prefect was endowed with the uncanny regality of Minerva McGonagall. Draco would get what was coming to him if he dare try to come between her and the grades at hand. 

"If anyone's going to be hurled off the astronomy tower, it's going to be me throwing _him_ off. Honestly, he doesn't know when to shut that snarky mouth of his…" She said, shaking her head furiously, her fingers tightening around her books at the mere, euphoric image of Draco Malfoy falling off the tallest tower of the school. A most appetizing image indeed. An image she would receive with much gusto. Eyes darkening dangerously as they neared the library, she wondered what would happen whence she step within the large doors. Though she had no intention of it happening, Draco had made it quite clear that he was the boss making orders for the path of the project. Oh, but no one would order her around. Especially when it put half of her charms grade at a lengthy risk.

"What spell do you reckon would be worth inventing? Cor, Hermione, think about the possibilities." The red head suddenly said. Starting out of her thoughts, she looked to her friend, a new gleam in her eyes. Ginny could recognize the familiar, particular glint every time school work was mentioned. 

"Well, there is already so many spells that tribute to the daily life styles of wizard, so I'm looking to work toward a spell that is both rare and extremely useful," Hermione explained, her brows furrowed. Ginny nodded for her to continue. "I've been thinking…  Maybe there is a spell I can create that would be helpful for the cause of Harry…" She murmured, biting down on her lower lip, conflict storming noticeably around her stony, somber features. Ron's sister's eyes widened when this was said. Very lightly, she grabbed onto the older Gryffindor's arm to halt their stride. Mouth tightening, she looked intently at Hermione.

"Hermione…" She began, an almost sympathetic expression forming on her freckled face. 

"I know that you would do anything to help Harry against Voldemort, but… he needs to do this by himself…" She whispered, her fingers admonishingly tight around her wrist. The way she murmured those words was with a soft significance, a passion that meant to get her point across. The prefect stood in complete silence for a moment, letting the words echo in her head. _Do it by himself? But this is Voldemort for Merlin's sake! Ron and I want to help him so badly, we cannot let Harry stand alone…_ But as she thought about that, and her gaze traveled to friend at her side, the occurrence of realization flooded through. Could Ginny already know about the prophecy? Could she know that before the plunge of the end, Harry would murder or be murdered? But somehow, the idea of the youngest Weasley knowing that forbidden secret was more of a comfort then a bother. Virginia Weasley did after all love the great Harry Potter.

"I know, Ginny… But there has to be something we could do to help him along the way. You know, guide him to the right path… Harry still has no idea how he is supposed to defeat Voldemort." Hermione pointed out, the slightest hints of exasperation in her voice making Ginny give a half smile.

"Don't worry. While he may be a bit on the thick side at times, I'm sure Harry will figure out what to do. 

"I sure hope so." She hugged her books fiercely. "Oh, has there been any more news about when Voldemort attacked Grisinlow?" Ginny's attention snapped back to Hermione with the reminder of when the dark lord swept through Ireland, leaving scars of devastation forever burned into those who populated the once quiet wizarding village. She licked her lips quickly for a moment, involuntarily twirling a strand of fiery hair around a fidgeting finger. It was the habits that overtook her like that, that gave her that lost image of innocence that had been eternally tainted by Tom Riddle at the unripe age of eleven. 

"I owled Dad about that actually. So far he hasn't been able to find out any information if the ministry found evidence at all." Ginny explained, her nose wrinkling dubiously. Then she continued, her voice lowered to a mere whisper that only Hermione could hear. "We're still in the dark of things, but the _Order_ is working on it…" 

Hermione nodded breezily, making sure that the both of them didn't appear suspicious or fraudulent. Neither of them desired to capture the unwanted attention of the shadows that lurked behind every corner. The veil of shade that whispered of dark and unfriendly things, and listened for the voices that spoke wrong and unjustly of them. Any promise of rise against the rising war would be a show of great promise to the serpentine lord. To get their eminence…

"It does make you wonder what _he_ is planning though…" Hermione knew very well whom 'he' was referred to by Ginny. Anyone who's suffered at his pawns of power would know who 'he' was. "It feels strange that he's moving his way around the United Kingdom, but we have no idea _what_ he is really going to do and _when_ he's going to do it. Kind of unnerving, isn't it?" She questioned, a gentle sigh coming from her. 

"Yes, but whatever it is, Dumbledore will be ready for it. If we didn't know any better, I'd say that he's been planning for this even before Harry was born." The red head grinned at this, something like a familiar reassurance flooded back onto her face. The mention of Dumbledore was often like that. His name alone was a comfort among the uncertainly and unanswered bafflements. When in the shadow of doubt, he was the restorative of hope. Hermione felt gladdened. But the solace that had settled within her came to an abrupt halt as the familiar doors of the library came in sight.

"Good luck, Hermione," Said Ginny, her mouth curling into a delicate, friendly smile. She gave her head a little suggestion of inclination toward the library doors where Malfoy would no doubt be behind. Inhaling sharply, Hermione returned the smile before putting a tentative hand to the wood of entrance. Lips set in a firm, determined line; she puffed up her chest and pushed it open. It would be best to just stroll in, her form burning with an aura of confidence as to not let him know of the uncertainty swooping in her rib cage. Sunlight greeted her eyes as she entered, making her squint for a short moment to become accustomed to the sudden implosion. Madam Pince looked up from her desk and gave a curt nod of her head. Hermione was a regular at the library of course, and was quite used to the silent act of greeting that the strict librarian gave.

With quick strides, her robes billowing out at her feet as she walked, Hermione's eyes sought for the silver haired Slytherin prince. _Maybe I am the one who is early_, she thought to herself gleefully. 

"So the mudblood finally decided to grace me with her presence…" Drawled that silky voice. Turning around, she went rigid at the sight of Malfoy lounging quite elegantly in a library chair, his feet kicked up on the table, arms crossed. Silently feeling appalled at his kingly monotone, she decided to swallow the comment that had arisen in her throat. It would not do good to start an argument so early in the library session. She did not want the urges to impale him in the eye with her best quill to overtake all balance already. If all else failed, she could hurl him down the longest staircase in the school, then tell the professors that her and Malfoy were trying out a charm for pain countervailing of the wizard body. That is, only _if_ they find his mangled body. Fighting down the devilish giggle, Hermione sat down across from him. 

It was now her and the little ferret who no doubt thought he was Merlin's gift to the world…

Without speaking a word, she looked pointedly down at his feet which covered the table. Raising an eyebrow, she looked back up at him, waiting for him to move them. He, however, was busy inspecting some imaginary dirt on his fingernails. **_Smug Bastard_**, she thought to herself. She distantly knew that sixty years from now, she would still remember him as the 'smug bastard'.

"Ahem!" She coughed softly. His gray eyes did not even pause to blink.

"Would you please move your feet, or were you waiting for me to clean the dirt off of them for you?" She asked. Seeing the sudden expression of evil, malevolent delight that bloomed at the chance to retort, she interrupted. "Wait, don't answer that……" Ignoring how crestfallen he appeared at missing his chance to be vicious, she pushed his feet off the table. 

The Gryffindor prefect felt his eyes settle on her as she made a show of pulling books and parchment out of her bag. After withdrawing the last quill and bottle of ink out of her satchel, she met his calculating gaze. The Slytherin sat there, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed. She very well registered the irritating fact that the infamous smirk had failed to leave his mouth as she watched him. The two stared at one another for a few moments in complete silence, wondering idly who would the one to first break the quiet, to shatter the glass of confinement. Hermione decided it would be up to her to do so. Choosing her words carefully, she spoke gently. This would be a _long_ day indeed…

"Well, lets get started, shall we?" She asked curtly.

Snort. "Lets…" He answered. Wondering when he would begin insulting her, she continued. It was better to say as much as she could before all chances of a civil library session was thrown out the window.

"The charms task is to manipulate magic in ways we can use to our own advantage, if not all witch and wizard. In simpler terms, we are to create a spell." She began, feeling slightly flustered but regal nonetheless.

"Tell me something that I don't already know, Granger. While we are still young, if you will…" Draco sneered sardonically, once more studying his nails with utmost fascination. Sucking in an almost shaky breath, Hermione decided to let his comment slip by unnoticed. Fingers clenched tightly into fists under the table, she drew in air to continue again.

"Well, er, since Hogwarts has found its way into questionable times, I think what witches and wizards need-" 

"You mean wizards and witches?" Interrupted the smug bastard, his sneer growing so monstrous that she thought it might break open his face in the effort. What did he mean by that?! _Oh I see it now…_ _The ferret really does believe that wizards are more superior to witches. _Ho Ho, she would prove him wrong, oh so wrong. Yes, she definitely felt sympathetic toward the poor fool who would have to marry this little snaky brat. The unfortunate witch would be his expensive little arm toy, a trophy to show off among pureblood modus vivendi. He continued sitting there, his eyebrows raised, arms crossed whilst he looked at her over the top of his nose like some lord delivering an order to his servant. No doubt, he had a few of those back at Malfoy manor. Probably house elves… A spark of foul indignation flared to life within her, causing her brown eyes to narrow with a parlous gleam. Harry and Ron would know that glint of S.P.E.W anger a mile away. _Those innocent, wretched house elves_. The poor creatures were probably chained down to that mansion of abomination and eternal service, deprived of the freedom that all house elves secretly desired, but not dare speak of. 

"Earth to Granger? I didn't come into this foul, _sordid_ library to have you sit there and stare at me." Barked Draco, looking with disdain as his eyes registered the library around him, nose wrinkled with disgust. Pushing against the scarlet blush that rose in her cheeks from both embarrassment and anger, she looked down at the table to continue.

"As I was saying, I think _witches_ and wizards," Hermione began again, putting emphasis on the word 'witch'. Malfoy only chose to snort rather than remark. "Need a spell that would be helpful in dangerous and life-threatening situations. Basically I mean that I wish to create an imperative spell that is not used in a mundane matter." She looked back at him, expecting him to respond in any way. He, on the other hand apparently did not seem to be listening to her because the attention that was focused on examining his nails was now switched to some imaginary dirt on his expensive, pressed robes. The quill clenched in her quivering hand began to bend under the pressure as her fist tightened. She could almost hear the writing tool scream with desperation. 

"The sort of spell I had in mind was a way of manifesting magic with the power of emotions." 

Malfoy chose that particular moment to look back at her as those words were uttered. That suggestion finally caught his attention because he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair. She noted the way he splayed his hands upon the surface of the table, and her scrutiny momentarily studied them. His hands were somewhat large, but the lithe form of his body made them just the right size. From his hands stemmed long, elegant fingers callused by the sport of Quidditch yet delicate as they were powerful. The skin was taut and outlined some of the gentler veins in a subtle, artistic way, but also gave way the power behind his knuckles. _Yes, he has beautiful hands... _She thought to herself. **_Lord!_** Mentally slapping herself silly, she looked back at his face. If he noticed her blatant staring, he chose not to mention it. But then again this was Malfoy she was talking about, and he by all means would say something in return if he caught her staring. Something snarky of course…

"Oh? How so?..."  He asked, starting her out of the reverie that drifted in and out of her mind. If she kept zoning out like this, then she would not hesitate to perform a sobering charm upon herself.

"Well, there might be a way to construct a spell that would draw its power from not only our magic, but also emotion as well. According to study, wizards die much faster during battle because they cannot receive proper medical attention until a war is over. Unless of course, a medi-witch or wizard apparates into the mists of battle and cares to the medical dilemma at hand. The problem with that is it could also result in the casualties of the medics." Hermione stopped, drawing in a breath to continue what she had so carefully monitored and memorized, but the look on the young man's face across from her made her halt. Malfoy sat there, his face utterly plagued of all emotion, his grey eyes glassy and dazed. There it was, that look again. As if he was asleep eagle-eyed. The possibility that he had ignored every word she had just spoken thoroughly came to mind causing her hands to once more tighten into fists. Brushing it away dismissively, she licked her suddenly dry lips and spoke again. She had written the whole speech down, but as it was spoken aloud she could not help but believe that Malfoy would find it very funny, if not hilarious.

"I propose a spell that could be used by any witch or wizard, even in the heat of war. It does not necessarily need to be known by only those with proper mastery of healing," She said. Draco seemed to have decided that it was a good time to come back to focus because he interrupted her textbook like speech with a question.

"And what, may I ask; does this have to do with _emotion_?" He asked, drawing out the word 'emotion' with honeyed sarcasm while wagging his quote fingers. He had to ask that question because gods know how long she would have continued before she actually got to the point. Draco ran a frustrated hand through his silver socks. He was beginning to feel a tad bit irritated and none too happy with the mudblood sitting in front of him. Long ago had he lost any interest with her proposition. Perhaps it was time for him to draw the ol' Malfoy fist through her rubbish and raise himself to the head of the project. The Slytherin was quite sure she had remembered their little 'talk' on Monday. The one about how _he_ was going to be making the choices. The one about how _he_ was going to be choosing what spell they created. And most importantly, how it would be **_he_** who was choosing who did what and when. 

"It has everything to do with emotion, Malfoy!" She exclaimed, agitation written across her face. "Emotions are powerful. They have perhaps an ever higher rate of potency then regular magic does. Try to focus on my point, honestly!" She stammered, exhaling sharply. The quill in her hand cracked dangerously.

"Your point?" Echoed Malfoy. "Merlin's beard, has Granger finally decided to get to the god forsaken point? Well then, please get on with it before I take matters into my own hands. Oh and I'm warning you, Granger, you will not like it when I become the dominant figure in charge of your grade." He said hazardously, his lip curling maliciously. He noted with self satisfaction the way her shoulders quivered with self restraint. _St. Mungos will be on Hogwarts door step in a heartbeat when the mudblood starts foaming at the mouth, _He thought to himself with a mental snigger.

"Focus! My point _is_ that emotions are powerful enough to be used in a form of magic. Imagine there was a way to use an emotion, perhaps love," Hermione ignored Draco's loud scoff. "As a power source of magic. Heading back to my theory about the casualties on the battlefield during war. People loose their lives because the lack of time that is needed for medical attention. For example, lets say, two good friends were fighting dark wizards and one of them is dying. There is no help within distance and they don't have eligible knowledge of healing. What if there was a way to use friendship to save the one dying? The wizard or witch can channel the power and strength of their love for that person into their wand and save them." She explained heatedly, not noticing the mirth swimming in his eyes. The idea to use the emotion of love to save someone came to her from what had happened to Harry and his mother. Lily Potter's love had saved Harry from death. She had closed that ever looming door to him.

"You do realize what you're suggesting, don't you? You're saying that we are to create a spell that uses _emotion_ to summon magic? Also, did you not already know that there is a spell that uses emotion to create magic already? It's called the Cruciatus curse, Granger, and it uses the emotion of _hate_ to inflict pain upon others. If you didn't already know, that's considered a dark art. So sorry to put a damper on your idea," He leered, looking ready to start barking with laughter. The Gryffindor prefect felt her eye twitch as his humor nearly slapped her in the face with all its edging boldness. Why was that so amusing? What did the bastard possibly think was so funny about the idea? Frankly, she had thought it almost beautiful in a sense to use love as a way to save the ones dear to you. All these years in the company of Harry and Ron had taught her that love was the one thing that would lead them into the sunsets of victory when trapped in the night of war. She had no intention of using the emotion of hate. Hate and loathing was powerful enough without having to channel it into magic.

"Learned that from the latest death eater youth association meeting, did you?..." She simpered, indicating what he had said about the unforgivable curse. Malfoy's eyes darkened to a dangerous shade when she said this, but he soon blocked any evidence that her comment had angered him. Her eyes momentarily strayed to his left arm. Who knew if the seemingly innocent skin was branded with the mark of the serpent? If it still remained unmarred, then for how long? Feeling overwhelmed, Hermione put a tentative hand to her forehead. She was startled to find a light sheen of sweat there. The color in her cheeks quickly began to transfigure into a scarlet red. The heat was rising in her chest, and she felt it somewhat difficult to breathe, to focus. He was doing this to her on purpose. _He just wants you to snap and go mad, don't give the git what he wants, _she thought to herself. Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes, and she tried desperately to blink them away. Hermione did not know how much more she could take of this.

Malfoy seemed to sense this, his smirk grew considerably nasty. His tongue splayed across the back of his teeth, desiring more of her control to be wasted away, to be diminished into nothing. Hermione crossed her arms stubbornly, her wild hair frizzing into a cloud on her head as she fought against the angry tears. She knew this would happen. She just knew it! Getting a good grade for this charms task would be so much more difficult, if not impossible, than she thought it would indeed be. He was a protruding rock in her path toward receiving the most sublime, omniscient grades that Hogwarts had ever seen. The gold prize would still be held outside grasping point if she didn't push him along a tad.

"Let me guess, this whole idea is about Potter right?" He sneered. _What? Harry?_ Could he have guessed that she was trying to create a spell to help Harry and his battle against evil? Brows furrowed, she asked,

"What does Harry have to do with this?" She asked with a sigh. Draco merely leaned further back on his chair, his stony eyes twinkling wolfishly. _Uh oh, he was up to something_. He seemed to really want to say something to her because his lips were slightly moving wordlessly. His chair gave a soft creak and he leaned further back on its two legs. She could not help but have high hopes that his chair would topple out from under him, resulting with the Slytherin laying on the floor with a not so minor concussion. It was mind blowing the way he could sit there like that and not even receive any attention from Madam Pince, the hawk of the library.

"I mean, you blatantly got this whole idea from what happened to Potter and his _dead parent's _right?" Seeing the shock registering on her face, he continued. Draco looked positively victorious. "Oh yes, Granger, I heard all about how his mudblood mother used her pathetic _love _to protect Potter. Apparently, she died to save his sorry arse. First, the dark lord blasted away his good for nothing Father like a foul little rag doll... Then, in a last attempt to save her precious Potter, his mother took the killing curse. Received it like a willing little mudblood should…  Oh the drama… Your famous best friend was only a brainless, ickle baby, but he still managed to get his filthy, muggle-hugging parents wasted and buried six feet under. In the cold, dead ground…" He snarled, his voice in a low whisper, eyes bright with glee. He watched in sheer delight as she looked down at her lap, biting down so hard that a small trickle of blood ran from her lips. His eyes followed that dulcet trail of crimson, his body nearly shaking with savage pleasure. Oh, the sight was beautiful! Leaning forward, he said in a dead murmur.

"Just like his no good, despicable parents, Potter will find himself alone and dead. _Love_ will be his pitiful grave right next to his rotten mother and his loathsome father…" 

Draco Malfoy watched; enchanted as Granger let go a sob, tears streaming down her cheeks. The cry seemed to rip through her because her body began to shake like a frail leaf in the wind. The Gryffindor had so obviously been trying to fight against the howling misery. The quill that had been clenched tightly in her fist had snapped and fallen into her lap broken. A strange feeling fluttered madly in his stomach as he watched this. He had broken and shattered her… Broken her like the quill that lay forgotten upon her lap. The Slytherin would have laughed if he knew that it was infact Harry who had given her that quill. A small gift as a token of the love that Malfoy claimed would kill the boy who lived in the end. She looked up at him through glistening eyes and brought up her hand to slap him across the face, but unlike third year, he was ready for it. His spidery hand fastened itself around her small wrist, her fingers trembling. A grin broke out on the corners of his mouth as she struggled. Heads were beginning to turn toward their direction, but he paid them no heed.

"Scared of the truth, Granger?..." He leered into her trembling features. Then he grew quiet as he watched more untainted rivers of tears splash across her face. Rivers of grief and fury mingled together, brewed as one. Very slowly, he brought his free hand up and swiped his thumb almost tenderly across her cheek. The softness of her skin made his fingers burn like a vampire in the blistering sunlight. He was not to corrupt such innocence.  Fear filled her large, brown eyes as he did this. Draco then looked down at his thumb, wet with her tears. Rubbing his index finger to his thumb, he drew close to her face… Their hearts began to beat with rhythm, with harmony.

"Filthy……" He breathed in a hiss, lips lifting and quirking with unrestrained delight. 

To elicit and arouse such sorrow in this one being was worth savoring. Granger backed away from him, her breath hitched as she crammed her books into her bags hurriedly. So, she was running away again. When she was done, she looked back at him, her shoulders shivering. The tone of voice had accusation and finality as it was spoken. 

"The only one who's going to find himself alone and dead are you…" She whispered before turning and fleeing the library, her wild mane of hair flashing over her shoulder. Whispers and murmurs broke out through the library when the door closed behind her, all eyes watching him with loathe and disgust. Draco Malfoy merely sat back in his chair, a satisfied smirk at last finding its way back onto his pleased face. _Finally… Some peace…_He thought to himself, ignoring the gossip traveling fast around him. Let them talk… Well, the truth always did hurt didn't? Granger just couldn't bear the thought of her Saint Harry Potter dead. Only when she was weeping those filthy tears over his broken body would he gloat to her and say,

"I told you so…"

******

Meanwhile the portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower opened and Hermione Granger stumbled in. Her books spilled to the floor but she paid no attention to her beloved possessions. His words…. So horrible…. So horrible…. They echoed through her head, over and over like a broken, resounding record. His voice, mocking and cold, rung in her ears like the haunting hiss of a snake.

_"Mother used her pathetic love to protect Potter_

_Dark lord blasted away his good for nothing Father like a foul little rag doll_

_Mother took the killing curse._

_Received it like a willing little mudblood should…_

_Wasted and buried six feet under…"_

Ron Weasley had been sitting in a comfy armchair beside the fireplace placing the last touches on his false Divination homework when he caught sight of his best friend standing in front of the open portrait of the fat lady. Her books and parchment lay in a pool around her feet, one of her ink bottles spilling free in the red rug like shed blood. Her arms lay limp as her sides, and her face was deadly pale, the very color seemingly stolen. Tears were matted under her eyes. Forgetting all predictions running ramped throughout his mind; he got up from his chair and approached her. 

"Hermione?..." He asked softly. She looked back up at him, her voice in a dead whisper.

"So horrible…" 

Ron said nothing but took her in his arms, feeling her tears sink through the fabric of his robes. And when her sobs grew harder, his arms tightened, enfolding her in his case of warmth, protection and love.

******

Draco Malfoy watched quietly as a house elf of Malfoy Manor floated away his trunk up the stairs. He would be here for the next week and a half, and happiness was not one of the emotions that were currently running through him. The Holidays had started yesterday with the breaking of the hurricane, and he had only arrived back home ten minutes ago. Lucius Malfoy stood but a few feet away, handing his coat and his serpentine staff to one of their loyal house servants to stash away. Even after living in the manor all his life, his watchful gray eyes lingered to the surroundings. The ceiling seemed to go on forever into darkness, the very height of the roof still questioned. Intricate patterns of the Malfoy crest were emboldened into the stone and marble of the walls and floors. It just wreaked money. The silence that engulfed the two men as they had stepped into their home had yet to be broken.  

But Lucius did not even breathe a word but stormed away, disappearing into the eerie corridors. Sighing softly, he floated up the stairs after the house elf. Well, conversation really was not expected. After all, his father didn't give a damn what went on in school or how he was doing. He left that to be mothers job a long while ago. Draco swept up the marble staircase, the feeling of it alone still unfamiliar under the palm of his hand. Even living there for all his life, he could not become accustomed to the subtleties of what home was supposed to be. The smell was forever odd; the marble was cold and foreign, and the Persian rugs still felt too rough under his feet. He was a mere visitor of his own mansion. In a matter of thought and truth, Draco Malfoy really didn't have a home. He didn't know what it felt like to belong somewhere.

Some of the portraits blinked awake from their sleep to spy on him as he passed, their intruding gazes calculating the seventeen year old. Many he recognized as his relatives because of the trademark blond hair, steely eyes and pointed features. One day, his photograph and portrait would be up there, forever looking down at some silver haired boy making his way through the manor. 

"Young master follows Wompy, please," Said the Malfoy house elf. Draco started out of his train of thoughts to realize that he had frozen in stride half way down one of the corridors. Quickening his pace to catch up, he could not help but feel that quiet feeling of trepidation creeping back up into his stomach. He had felt it when first stepping back on the Manor grounds, but thought it nothing but the magic protecting his home. But as he was pulled farther into the maze of wealth that was the curious mansion, he knew that something or _someone _elsebut his family was under the same roof. Something sinister… Pulling the collar of his black cloak tighter around the pale column of his neck, he entered the towering door of his bedroom. The house elf named Wompy quickly deposited of his trunk at the foot of the massive bed before bowing low so that his long, thin nose touched the floor.

"Does the young master want anything from Wompy at all? It would make Wompy very happy to serve the young sir." Asked the elf, straightening his wrinkled tea cozy. Draco snorted softly in annoyance, waving his hand dismissively. He felt very exhausted, and the feeling that Lucifer itself was somewhere in the manor did nothing to relinquish the migraine fighting to consume his head. All he wanted was to delve deep under the blankets folded so crisply over his king sized bed and hide there until he could return to his mighty throne at Hogwarts. All inner power and defiance was stripped of him from the moment his foot touched the grounds of his Father. But one day, one day in secret, he would rise against him. He would be the towering phantom staring down at him. And he would love every moment of it, he would make sure of it… For one glorious moment, he would see true fear swarming his father's stony eyes.

"No, please go…" Draco sighed, dismissing the house elf. Wompy bowed low once more before dashing away out of the room. He simply did not have the strength at the moment to order around some silly servant. Kicking off shoes and unbuckling the clasp of his cloak, he let the fulgent fabric slip gracefully off his broad shoulders to puddle at his feet. Not bothering to remove his clothing, he jumped for his bed, his face greeting his large pillows. Eyes heavy with desired sleep, he slipped under the emerald green velvet. While his father preferred the luxuries of satin sheets, his son chose velvet. Comfortable warmth settled over him, and he could not help but feel a gladdened that he was alone in his bedroom. At least he wasn't stuck back at school shoveling snow with a certain bushy haired Gryffindor in detention. The satisfying image of seeing her burst into tears, yesterday in the library was relishing indeed. Yes, those wonderful sobs would dim the fires of his being until he last return.

At last, the Slytherin prince fell under the seduction of slumber, dreaming of bushy haired prefects and her salty, wet tears.

******

The air surrounding and within Malfoy Manor was alive with magic. The wards were flickering dangerously like shields of gleaming stars, and the house elves were cowering into the kitchen, scared and sobbing fretfully. A siren allurement of power drifted like smoke under the door of the young master of the mansion, and crept over his belongings, breathing and whispering. The wisps crawled malevolently over the lithe body of a silver haired young man in dexterous fingers, caressing and welcoming. A sharp sigh escaped his mouth as this magic slipped beneath him, gently prodding his lower back into an arch, rising his torso up from the mattress. Very slowly, Draco was beckoned gracefully into a sitting position before the power erupted into the snowfall of sparks. With a gasp, his eyes flew open.

He took in the surroundings, reminding himself that he was still safely in his bed. But the air was thick with manifestation. Great power had been summoned that night, he could almost taste it. He almost knew for sure that was what woke him up from the comfortable sleep he had been welcomed into earlier that day. It was now night over the mansion, and rays of silver moonlight spilled through his window and onto the floor in puddles. Throwing back the blankets and registering how dry his throat had become, he decided that he should go down to the kitchens for a glass of water, or better yet, some of his father's wine. But fear mixed with the haze of dread in his gut. Drifting and mingling with the shadows of the many halls was not an intelligent idea when such strong magic lingered like a cloud. It was frightening, if not dangerous. 

Pushing away the rising sense of curiousness, he swung his legs out of the bed and onto the floor. He almost jumped at the shock that jolted through him at the freezing stone. Not bothering to put on his shoes, he opened his door. It swung open on his hinges, the creak wavering through the hallway eerily. Gulping softly, he padded out of his room and into the shade. The outlines of the people of their portraits were moving restlessly, obviously awoken by the stir of magic as well. Everything was alive and the shadows gave movement to things he really never chose to notice. Shivering as he made his way down the marble staircase, Draco could not help but feel a twinge of regret for even leaving his bedroom, let alone his bed. 

"No time to get all scared you ninny git, you've done this loads of times before…..ok, maybe just once before….." He murmured to himself uncertainly. After what seemed like eternity, he let go a sigh of relief as he entered the kitchens. The kitchens were not all that dark, but the glint of the moonlight on the silver utensils cast glow on the tables. Thankfully there was a bottle of his father's best wine already open on one of the many countertops. Some of the house elves must have been serving Lucius some. The Slytherin didn't know if he could handle going all the way down below under the kitchen into his fathers wine wing if it hadn't already been there. Now that would be scary… Getting himself a goblet, he watched carefully as the crimson liquid sloshed into the glass, a gentle aroma entering his nose and making his nostrils itch pleasantly. As he lifted the goblet to his lips to sip, he heard a whimper come from one of the kitchen's corners. Setting the drink back on the counter, he peaked around to see a press of house elves huddled together. Most of them had their eyes covered with their long floppy ears, and their hands clamped over their faces while they sobbed silently. Wrinkling his nose, he prepared to snap.

"What do you think you're doing there?" Asked Draco suspiciously. He then went quiet for a moment, startled that his own question had come out in nothing more than a mere whisper. It was that blasted magic, whatever it was. It was making his insides all jumpy. But his whisper was apparently enough to get their attention. Wompy the elf jumped at Draco and hugged his bare feet.

"Oh sir! Young master must not be out of bed! Powerful magic is happening in masters home! Very powerful magic! It scares us!" Sobbed Wompy, wiping his pointed nose on his tea cozy while big, fat tears streamed down his face. Brows furrowed, Draco looked over the fearful servants. He had never seen them quite like that before. While the servants always did have a large share of crying and moping, never like this. He had to get to the bottom of what was going on. Whatever had been manifested, it had put an unsettled veil of shadow over the Manor. The crispness of this magic floating everywhere like microscopic bacteria unnerved him to a great deal. Perhaps he should just forget about it and go back to bed. Lucius would probably tell him what was being put forth tomorrow morning. Wouldn't he?... Yeah, he probably would. Deciding to go back up to his bedroom, he gulped down the goblet in a single sip and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. 

Leaving the house elves to continue fretting and wallow in their fear, Draco padded out of the kitchen and into the endless halls. The mystery would be solved tomorrow morning and then that would be the end of it. It was nothing to worry his pretty little head about. But as he stood at the foot of the marble staircase, he could not help but turn his head over his shoulder to look at the opposite corridors. It was those hallways that lead to Lucius's chambers, studies, and meeting rooms. And when he meant meeting rooms, he meant Death eater common areas. Standing there alone in the darkness, he felt some light force pull him toward those forbidden hallways. The same force that had seemingly disturbed his sleep. As he drew further toward his Fathers study into the obscure, the intensity of the air grew thicker. Gulping down the bile rising in his throat, he continued on.

Draco had never felt such power stirring so erratically around him. It wasn't normal. Butterflies were swooping in his stomach as he felt the urge to bend over and retch something terrible. _Just turn around and go back upstairs, you bloody dolt! _He thought to himself frantically. He fought to stop himself from going any further, to just go back and hide under his blankets like the little ninny he felt like at the moment. But this magic…. This great and horrible magic… It would not let him. Invisible hands grabbed at his rigid limbs and forced him in the fateful direction of his father's study. Gritting his teeth and straining the column of his neck, he used every fiber of his being to battle against this free, unworldly summoning. But his inner war came to a sudden halt as faint voices from the study up ahead caught his ears. A small line of light fell through the crack of the door. It was open, but only just…

"Ah, Lucius… Poor me some of that exquisite wine, for this is a night of victory and revelry, my friend…" Hissed a cold voice that made Draco's blood turn to ice. He was certain that he had never heard this purely sinister voice before. But he was certain about one thing: he did not want to know whom that voice belonged to. Shivers that had nothing to do with the frigid air traveled up his spine and back down again. As he drew ever closer to the door, the voices grew more clear and less faint. _Merlin, help me! _His insides screamed in panic. 

"Yes, of course Master…" He heard his Father reply. The breaths that had been growing heavier and faster as he neared the study came to an abrupt stop. The force grasping at his limbs gave way and he fell in a silent heap behind the massive, double doors. Draco lay on the rug, shadows falling over his body in a bleak blanket, his eyes widening so intently that they threatened to fly out of their sockets like little golden snitches. _Did Father just say_ **_Master?!_** There just happened to be one person whom Lucius Malfoy worked for, and called Master. And it was not Cornelius Fudge… No… No… It was impossible. The dark lord Voldemort couldn't just happen to be in the Malfoy study of which he lay just outside of. This could not be happening. _No, this is definitely not happening_, Draco thought to himself, his hands clamped down over his ears like the house elves had done back in the kitchen.

Fear like he had never felt before swept over his trembling form. Not the type of fear he had always felt in the presence of his father, but cold, brisk fear… The kind of fear that left your mind utterly numb with hollowness, void of all things except reality. The kind of fear that rolled through a person in waves, making their body start to shake violently. Draco covered his mouth to stop himself from gagging. It ripped through his empty stomach, causing acid to fill his esophagus and make his eyes water with the effort of keeping it down. Rolling over, he sat up and gulped. Taking a moment to quiet his breathing, he looked through the crack where the towering door was slightly open so that he could listen. 

The magic that had awakened the whole manor was coming from that room…

"You see, my faithful servants, we finally have an advantage over that old fool Dumbledore…" Cackled the dark lord. From what Draco could see at his position behind the door, he could make out his father and several other robed death eaters all facing one direction. A large, black armchair, his father's favorite chair, faced the fireplace, though no fire burned. The back of the armchair was facing the doorway so the young Slytherin could only make out a thin, white spidery hand curled around the arm rest. The sight of it nonetheless made his wince. He himself had never seen the dark lord before. 

"While Dumbledore knows that there will be an attempt siege upon his beloved Hogwarts, he does not know, however, that my army will arrive with… _style_…"  Voldemort whispered, putting slow emphasis on the last word. Draco's fingers grasped at the carpet beneath himself, and his brows furrowed with confusion. _Attempt Siege on Hogwarts?_ This lit a spark of interest within his mind. Ah, so the dark lord was planning to take the impenetrable fortress of Hogwarts School and witchcraft and wizardry… But it would take a whole lot more than death eaters to breach the great castle. While the particular thought of Hogwarts coming to the ground did not light a real bother in him, he could not help but let his lips fall back into their trademark smirk. Potter was going to get what was coming to him… But the enigma of this fateful hour was: How?... What did the dark lord mean by arriving with style? Voldemort seemed to have sensed his question floating distantly and then beckoned to Lucius.

"Lucius… If you will please demonstrate for your brothers…" Voldemort said, waving his thin hand. He could hear the pleased smile in the dark lord's tone of voice. Draco watched with tentative, wide eyes as his Father bowed low before approaching a metal stand holding up a large leather book. The book was already open and Lucius looked at one of the pages nervously for a moment. Drawing his wand, Lucius raised one of his hands and tapped the wooden point at his palm. Then, he whispered a near silent spell. Draco found himself leaning unconsciously forward, sweat dotting his temple and upper lip. He could feel the change in air almost immediately. It was happening again. The air was sparking with free, uncontrolled magic. He watched fervently to see what spell his father was casting. 

For a moment nothing happened after Lucius muttered the incantation. Then, with a smooth hiss of magic, brilliantly colored fire bloomed from the palm of his hand. Draco swallowed the cry of alarm that threatened to break free from his dry throat as his Fathers body erupted into flame. The Death eaters let out yells of shock, but the dark lord Voldemort crowed triumphantly, his hand balled into a fist. Draco felt his silver hair stand on end, but he refused to take the hands that covered his face away. He never liked his father, but he didn't think he could see the prideful man in a heap of dead ash. 

"Look, my loyal servants!" Cried the dark lord. Letting his hands fall away from his face, a gasp tumbled uncheck from his lips at the marveling sight before him. Never would he forget it. There in the center of the room stood not a pile of smoking flesh and ash, but Lucius Malfoy, his body outlined in unworldly flame. He watched in breathless awe as the older Malfoy raised a shimmering hand, fire dancing around every last fingertip. The man looked like some god of the sun, his silver hair haloed in wisps of the not red, but blue arctic fire. Every inch of the death eater was ignited in the glorifying blaze of magic. 

"You see?! This is our weapon! This is our key to raising Hogwarts castle to the ground in ruin and despair! What you see, my faithful servants, is the Cold Fire…" 

Draco'a mind hammered with unanswered questions. Cold Fire? What in God's name was the Cold Fire? He continued to watch his father in awe, wondering what sort of unworldly magic it was. It certainly didn't seem like dark magic. He _knew _without a doubt what dark magic felt like, and this was not it. Dark magic had this sort of aura that seemed to be dirty and non-cleansed, yet it felt undeniably powerful none the less. Yes, this was not dark magic. But what would Lord Voldemort be doing using light magic? His thoughts came crashing back to reality when the dark lord spoke to his servants of abomination.

"The Cold fire… Long have I been searching for its secrets… And only until now have I been able to unfold its mystery! But little did I know that the cryptic enigma of this ancient magic lye hidden away in that vile, destitute village Grisinlow…" He explained, distaste in his voice. Draco shuddered as his voice ran through him in a series of chills. 

"Yes, Ancient magic indeed… Its secrets have been lost to all wizard kind for over a long, dreadful millennia… But who would realize that this lost, arcane discovery was locked within the confines of that one book... And all I had to do was travel to Ireland for it," He said, motioning toward the stand holding up the massive, leather book. Ah, so that's what all that news about the Ireland attack was about.  "But alas, I fear that we do not own all of the Cold fires secrets… For there is another book... A book that I am all too confidant lye conveniently in Albus Dumbledore's grasp…" He finished, his white fist slamming hard upon the arm rest of his father's chair. The death eaters hissed like angry snakes, and Draco watched in awe as the blaze still outlining Lucius's bold form heighten with his anger. The fire itself seemed to grow larger and fiercer in its glow. 

"But it is not in this moment of victory should we be mourning the loss of the books twin. No, my friends… I'm all too sure you ponder what it is this Cold Fire does?... Wormtail, if you will…" Hissed Voldemort. Draco peered closer, eager to see the nervous death eater known as Wormtail. From under the black folds of his robes, he could see the elaborate silver hand glistening in the dim light. All eyes turned toward Peter Pettigrew as he weakly approached the godly form that was Lucius Malfoy. Even from here, the young Slytherin prefect could see the trademark smirk that so resembled his own upon his father's face. Wormtail raised his wand.

"_Stupefy!_" Shouted Wormtail. All scrutinized as the stunning spell flew through the air toward the shimmering death eater. One moment the spell had hit Lucius and the next, it had rebound as if hitting a mirror. Peter was sent flying through the air and hit the wall next to the open door, causing Draco to fall back onto the rug unceremoniously. He let out the breath that he had been holding in without knowing. The death eaters let out triumphant yells at the untouched Malfoy. The spell, it had not worked. Whatever the magic of the fire was, it made him invulnerable to the spell being set at him. How was this possible? How could a wizard be unstoppable against a spell? This Cold fire, it was something like a shield. 

"My friend, how just the does the fire feel?..." 

Lucius was silent for a moment, marveling at the wonder of the powerful magic engulfing his very being. But then he answered, a malicious grin curling on his lips.

"Rich… It feels rich, my lord…" He murmured like the Cheshire cat. But then, his eyebrows furrowed.

"But, master, I understand not how it works…" He said, almost ashamed. Voldemort's fingers simply curled tighter around the arm rest. Draco was beginning to feel even more unnerved if that was possible. He was quiet for a long while before he spoke again, and in an amused voice.

"I don't believe this is the right time for such explanations, as we have a visitor waiting outside your door, Lucius…"

The wind seemed to be knocked out of Draco as the dark lords words registered in his mind. But before a panic-stricken thought could race through his head, the door was thrown open and he was hurled into the room. He lay there breathing heavily on the dark red carpet in front of the roaring fire, silence ringing in his ears. He dare not open his eyes for he feared what might be waiting to look back at him. Someone had grabbed the back of his collar and dragged him to his feet. Draco was spun around to meet with his father's deadly gaze. Familiar fear laced through him like a spider web.

"Ah, this must be young Draco… I don't believe we have met…" Said the cold voice from Lucius's armchair. Being forcibly turned back around, the Slytherin prince's eyes widened in horror…

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A/N: Muhahahaha!!! Major cliffhanger! Ill post the next chapter when I get the chance to write it. I enjoyed writing this chapter immensely, especially the parts with evil draco. 

                                                                                                                                                          


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